


box of secrets

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire leaves his doodles all over the place. Enjolras collects them without knowing who drew them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a habit, not even a bad one, not as bad as the sleeping in and missing lectures or the drinking or the smoking weed, but it was a habit nonetheless. Grantaire liked to doodle. When he was on the phone, when he sat in classes and wasn’t paying attention, while he was watching TV, even when he talked to people in person, oftentimes while he drank his coffee at his favourite café.

He didn’t think much of it, if anything it was practise. He had a sketchbook, too, he carried it around, but he somehow ended up drawing on scraps of paper other people had left behind, flyers handed out around campus by poor souls who couldn’t find a better job, occasionally it was an empty pizza carton he drew on, frequently it was napkins.

Grantaire was known in certain circles, those being the people who happened to frequent a – at least to students – well-known pub, namely the Corinthe, as _the bartender who draws pictures on napkins if he doesn’t have anything better to do and you give him a generous tip_.

It had started out as a joke on a particularly slow night. He’d been doodling on Courfeyrac’s napkin, everyone had left for other parties, there was something big happening surely, because the whole pub had been deserted, his friend had insisted on complaining about some fling of his, and since Courfeyrac had someone new to complain about every other week or so Grantaire hadn’t listened too closely, not because he didn’t care but because he’d heard it all before.

Some girls had come up to the bar then, and Grantaire hadn’t been sure which desolate corner they’d emerged from, but when he’d set their orders in front of their noses, one of them had asked “Did you draw this”, the other “Can I have one, too?” and had pushed her napkin over the counter for him to draw on. 

And from then on people had kept asking for drawings on their napkins, and who was Grantaire to deny the people a simple pleasure like that. It was the people who arrived exceptionally early or exceptionally late, in between he was too busy to draw and everyone knew that. Sometimes he’d get a phone number in return, sometimes a kiss on the cheek, sometimes an invitation, to dinner, to parties, to beds, all of which he ignored.

He left his drawings all over the place, actually, he stuffed them under tables at uni, once he’d drawn a portrait of one of his professors on a table in one of his classrooms during his first week and people had started putting fake quotes all around it, and once he’d left a drawing of Achilles and Patroclus in one of the copies of the Iliad in the university’s library, the next time he’d checked and it had been gone.

Most of the time, however, his drawings probably got thrown away by janitors and waiters. He knew that his flatmate, Jehan, often saved them from being thrown in the bin by Grantaire himself when he got annoyed with them lying around all over their flat. Grantaire didn’t mind, they were just doodles, nothing special, but Jehan seemed to like them, so if he wanted to keep them, Grantaire surely wouldn’t stop him. He was pretty sure that Jehan already had a box full of them stored away somewhere in his room.

Grantaire didn’t know that sometimes even other people other than Jehan picked them up and wondered who the hell would leave such beautiful drawings behind.

One of these people was Enjolras.

Grantaire hardly knew Enjolras, he knew him as _the guy who gets really worked up about human rights violations and the like_ , who held meetings at the Musain, who liked to climb on chairs for the dramatic effect, because who was he kidding, the guy hardly needed more than his voice to make himself heard.

Sometimes Grantaire would watch him, he was always surrounded by his admirers, yelling about the pressing issue of the day, or quietly conversing with his right-hand men. One of those was, ironically, Courfeyrac.

He fit right in, he cared about these things, wasn’t all about his flings and his parties, Grantaire had got to known him as someone who’ll take a stranger home and let him sleep on his couch, on one of those occasions where Grantaire had been too drunk to find his own way home. That was actually also how Courfeyrac had come by his flatmate, Marius, whom he’d picked up somewhere in the street. Quite literally.

Jehan had joined their little group, too, had asked Grantaire a couple of times if he wanted to join them as well, since he often came to the Musain anyway, either to read, or to eavesdrop as subtly as possible while he pretended to read, or to just bluntly stare at them.

Not exactly them. Most of the time it was Enjolras he stared at.

Enjolras was a force of nature, a catastrophe waiting to happen, if you asked Grantaire, because Enjolras was a firm believer in what he stood for, and the things he stood for ranged from ridiculous to impossible.

And still, Grantaire liked to listen to him, liked to watch him speak, because words never failed him. It was interesting how one voice could capture so many people, how someone could believe so strongly. Yes, sometimes he stared, but no one ever stared back at him.

If Enjolras had known who was staring at him, he might have turned his head. Because Jehan wasn’t the only one who had a box full of Grantaire’s drawings at home, Enjolras had one as well, but unlike Jehan, he didn’t know where the drawings came from.

He’d started picking them up the first time he’d been to the library and one of them had fallen out of a book, and a couple of weeks later he’d found another one, folded into a paper crane in a classroom, then another one in Courfeyrac’s dorm, either forgotten or abandoned on a windowsill. He recognised the artist’s style, found more and more of them, but never found the artist himself, no matter how hard he tried.

It became a habit somehow, picking up the drawings wherever he found them, always making sure no one would see him do it, because it struck him as slightly weird to pick up some stranger’s drawings. Whoever they were, they had a lot of talent, and Enjolras didn’t quite understand why they just left them lying around like they were nothing special. It made him angry, although obviously it was completely senseless to be angry at someone he’d never met.

Combeferre would say it wasn’t like him, just like he always did when he caught Enjolras watching TV shows instead of the news. Well, _caught_ was maybe the wrong word, even though it felt a lot like it. Maybe it was because Combeferre had got to know him as someone who was constantly buried under a pile of work and as someone who regarded watching TV as a waste of time. Sometimes, when he’d written essays all night, however, time just demanded to be wasted on the most stupid show he could possibly find.

Anyway, Combeferre didn’t know about the drawings. No one did, so Enjolras kept them hidden in a box under his bed, safely tucked away. There were at least five of his friends who could have told him where they came from had he only asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this right now, but I really like the idea, so I thought I'd just put it out there to see if people like it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Please, for the love of God, will you just go home,” Grantaire said and threw the damp rag he’d been wiping the bar with at Courfeyrac, who sat at the end of the bar, slumped over, head resting on his folded arms, watching Grantaire clean up with bleary eyes.

Courfeyrac grumbled something and shook his head. He sat up, though, Grantaire counted that as a victory. He usually didn’t have trouble getting people to leave, especially when he was doing shifts with Bahorel, who could probably knock him out by poking him with his pinkie. Grantaire frowned at Courfeyrac. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, looking over his shoulder every now and then, but Grantaire had been too busy working to pay attention to what he was looking for. “Can I call someone for you?” he asked eventually when Courfeyrac kept staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Nah, Marius...” He paused and blinked, trying to collect his thoughts. “He took off to stalk some girl and-” Courfeyrac blinked again, hiccupped, and then, apparently having lost his train of thought again, stumbled off his barstool, not quite successful, and was caught by the arm by Bahorel, who raised his eyebrows at Courfeyrac.

“Want me to call you a cab, mate?” He let go of Courfeyrac’s arm, but quickly caught him again when he started swaying dangerously.

Courfeyrac shook his head, curls flying about his head. “’m fine, I know where I live.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t guarantee that you’ll make it there,” Grantaire mumbled and turned to Bahorel. “I’ll take him home when I’m done.”

“Better take him home right now, he doesn’t look too good,” Bahorel said and pushed Courfeyrac back onto a barstool. “I’ll close up, no worries.”

Grantaire shot him a thankful smile, grabbed his jacket from behind the bar and pulled it on. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to taking Courfeyrac home, it had been freezing when he’d walked over here from his flat a couple of hours ago and he highly doubted that it had got any warmer. But this was Courfeyrac, who would do the same for him, who, in fact, had already done the same for him, and he sure wouldn’t take the risk of letting him walk home by himself. He’d either end up dead in the sewers or in a stranger’s bed on the other side of town.

There were probably other people who would pick him up if he called, Grantaire was sure. The leader of their little group, for example, who cared so much about humanity, although Grantaire wasn’t sure if he’d still care that much if someone called him to let him know that his friend was ready to be picked up at the Corinthe at two in the morning.

Grantaire had noticed that they came here a lot, Courfeyrac and his friends, probably after their meetings, but their leader never came with them, and neither did the tall guy with the glasses who seemed to have a predilection for cardigans and scarfs. Mostly it was Courfeyrac and Jehan, who both knew him, which was why they kept dragging their friends here of all places, or at least that was what Grantaire thought.

Grantaire didn’t know their names, they’d never been introduced, save for Feuilly, who’d once seen him draw on a napkin and had insisted on getting a drawing himself, watching Grantaire with admiration and babbling along as he drew, telling him about his music shop and how he’d met the group. Grantaire had ended up in his music shop two days later and had left with a new guitar he didn’t actually have the money for, even though Feuilly had given him a more than generous discount.

There was a medicine student, too, who had once lectured Grantaire on the dangers of having peanuts available at the bar, which had left him wondering whether he should laugh or be slightly worried about the company his friends were keeping. Said medicine student was always accompanied by _the_ _guy who’d once complained to Grantaire about his receding hairline for nearly an hour_ , who for some reason always managed to break at least one glass on each of his visits. In his defence, he’d even offered to pay for them at some point, but Grantaire had refused to take his money.

And of course there was Marius, usually following Courfeyrac around, except for today, obviously, today he had chosen to follow someone else around for a change, which was a little worrying, but Marius really wasn’t Grantaire’s responsibility, right now he was left with a widely grinning Courfeyrac, dressed in jeans and a black shirt, his jacket nowhere to be found.

“You’re going to freeze to death out there,” Grantaire scolded him, “are you sure you don’t remember where you put it?”

“Maybe... I... I think it might be... at the Musain?” He jumped of the stool with new found energy. “Let’s go get it, it’s just around the corner.”

He strode towards the door, but Grantaire caught him by the hem of his shirt. “The Musain closed hours ago. Wait here.” He briefly glanced at Bahorel, hoping he’d keep an eye on Courfeyrac while he went to the backroom to see if the green jumper he’d forgot a few weeks ago was still there. Luckily it was, together with some abandoned scarves and hats, things easily forgotten after a night out, a leather jacket that probably belonged to Bahorel, at least going by the size of it, and, oddly enough, a single shoe.

Grantaire picked up his jumper, still wondering about the shoe when he tugged it over Courfeyrac’s head a minute later. It wasn’t even a particularly ugly jumper or anything, Grantaire liked the colour, but it was covered in dried paint and had a few holes in some places, so he wouldn’t have been too sad if it had vanished in the depths of the Corinthe’s backroom.

Courfeyrac was still swaying slightly, and slumped against Grantaire as soon as he’d draped an arm around his back to drag him homewards. He quickly said goodbye to Bahorel, who was shaking his head at the both of them, and off they were into the night.

Grantaire hadn’t been to Courfeyrac’s flat that often, maybe three or four times, and he hardly remembered his first stay there, he’d spent most of it passed out on his sofa. He knew the way, though, glad that Courfeyrac was still able to walk on his own, and suddenly felt a little guilty about all the times one of his friends had had to drag him home in the middle of the night.

When they’d already made it halfway to the building he lived in, Courfeyrac started singing, a song Grantaire had heard before, he wasn’t sure when and where, but he could have sung along had he wanted to, except that it was half two in the morning and therefore it was the worst idea Courfeyrac had ever had in his entire life. Grantaire, after words had proved unsuccessful, clamped his free hand over Courfeyrac’s mouth, regretting it immediately when he licked over his palm.

“Dude, this is the last time I’m taking you home, I swear.”

Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out at him and giggled, but thankfully only hummed his songs from then on. Grantaire was thoroughly exasperated by the time they’d reached their destination and had to keep himself from punching Courfeyrac in the guts when his singing grew louder with every step up the stairs to his flat on the first floor. The lock on the front door was still broken, just like it had been the last time Grantaire had been here, but now they found themselves in front of flat 1A, the door firmly locked, and since Marius was still out, with no one to open the door.

“Do you have keys?” Grantaire asked, praying to every God he could think of that the answer would be _yes_.

Courfeyrac giggled as Grantaire scowled at him, picked up on singing Dancing Queen and made a pirouette that ended with him stumbling against the door of 1B. Grantaire cursed under his breath and took Courfeyrac by the arm. “Keys?” he repeated.

“I didn’t bring any, I thought I’d be going home with Marius as always.” Courfeyrac burst into another fit of giggles, while Grantaire was busy regretting every choice he’d made that had caused him to end up here.

And since his night couldn’t get any worse, the door of flat 1B flew open and revealed an extremely disgruntled, but still angel-faced Enjolras, sadly not shirtless, Grantaire noted. “What the hell are you two up to?” His voice sounded hoarse and he rubbed his eyes as he spoke, clearly they’d woke him up, either by Courfeyrac’s horrid rendition of Dancing Queen or their conversation or, more likely, by Courfeyrac stumbling against his goddamned door. And Grantaire had seen him angry, many, many times, and even though his anger had mostly been directed at organisations or the government, Grantaire was somehow expecting him to yell at them.

Courfeyrac, however, didn’t deem that likely to happen at all, only smiled happily and went to hug Enjolras. “Enjolras, light of my life, Idon’thaveakey,” he said, slurring the words so that Enjolras had to look to Grantaire for help.

“He can’t get into his flat, because Marius isn’t there and he doesn’t have a key, you don’t happen to have a spare one, do you?”

“No,” Enjolras said slowly, “I don’t.” Well, that would have been too good to be true. Enjolras slung an arm around Courfeyrac. “He can stay on our sofa, though.”

Grantaire let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, I was starting to fear that I’d have to drag him back to my place.”

Enjolras smiled at him, a tired smile, but one that Grantaire wanted to memorise and put down on paper as soon as he got hold of a pencil. “Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras mumbled and manoeuvred Courfeyrac into his flat with a swift movement.

“Right,” Grantaire said, shifting his weight, staring at the both of them awkwardly, Enjolras looking like he was about to fall asleep again any second and Courfeyrac still beaming at him. “I better go.” He smiled at them awkwardly and turned around, somehow very keen on getting away from Enjolras as quickly as he possibly could.

* * *

“Who the hell was that?” Enjolras asked as he shoved Courfeyrac further into his flat, just as Combeferre came padding out of his room, squinting at the two of them in the doorway.

Courfeyrac leaned against him and mumbled something into his shirt. Enjolras huffed and shut the door, trying not to let go of Courfeyrac, who wasn’t even trying to stand up straight anymore, but was already half-asleep with his head on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Everything alright?” Combeferre asked as he came closer.

“Courfeyrac is staying with us tonight,” Enjolras explained to Combeferre. “He forgot his keys.” He was trying not to sound too annoyed, but probably didn’t succeed, because Combeferre smiled his _calm down and let me handle this_ smile and plucked Courfeyrac from his arms.

Enjolras got a blanket while Combeferre dragged Courfeyrac towards the sofa where he slumped down and curled up into a ball, babbling as Enjolras tucked him in. “You guys are the best friends ever, really, you’re... absolutely... the bestest of the best and I’m-”

“Sleep well,” Combeferre interrupted, knowing Courfeyrac wouldn’t stop for another hour or so if they didn’t put an end to this.

“If you drool on our sofa, you’re dead,” Enjolras said, trying to bite back his laughter when Courfeyrac hugged one of their sofa cushions and mumbled something unintelligible.

Enjolras walked back to his room, closely followed by Combeferre, who simply let out a heavy sigh and flicked off the lights. His alarm would go off in about four hours, he had two essays to write and he’d promised to help Joly hand out flyers with some of his fellow medical students. It was probably for the best to forget about the essays right now, because he wouldn’t get much work done as long as Courfeyrac was here.

Courfeyrac had a way of taking his classes not to seriously, always managed to get through them anyway, and usually didn’t have any sympathy for Enjolras when he was doing work for uni on the weekend. According to Courfeyrac weekends weren’t made for work and today wasn’t the first time he’d ended up on their sofa.

Enjolras’ thoughts lingered on the guy who’d taken Courfeyrac home for a minute or two. He was sure he’d seen him before, but couldn’t quite tell where, probably at uni, maybe he was in one of his classes. He was hoping that the poor guy wouldn’t freeze to death on his way home, it was cold, too cold for October.

He didn’t worry for too long, though, he was asleep again within minutes.

In the morning he refrained from throwing his phone against the wall or out of the window, quickly turned his alarm off and ventured to the kitchen to make coffee. The door to Combeferre’s room was still closed and Courfeyrac was fast asleep on their sofa, not drooling (like last time) as far as Enjolras could tell. No murders today then.

He sat down with a cup of coffee and his laptop, trying to enjoy the silence as long as it would last. Which wasn’t all too long. Enjolras had only read three articles and skimmed two others when Courfeyrac’s phone started buzzing. Courfeyrac, however, only grumbled and turned over, muttering curses.

“Courf, please just answer your goddamned phone,” Enjolras hissed after whoever was calling him tried for the fourth time.

Courfeyrac glared at him, but wriggled around under his blanket to get his phone out of his pocket. “What?” A pause, then “Oh, sorry man, yeah, I didn’t have a key.” Courfeyrac scratched his head and reached for Enjolras’ mug.

“Mine,” Enjolras mouthed and took it before Courfeyrac could take it away. He pointed to the kitchen. “Get your own.”

“Alright,” Courfeyrac said, but not to him, “Well, where the hell did you run off to last night?” He was still making grabby hands at Enjolras’ coffee, but he only shook his head. As Courfeyrac listened to what Marius (at least Enjolras was guessing that it was Marius) was telling him his eyes grew wider and wider. “Holy shit, man, you have to tell me everything once I’ve eaten all of Enjolras’ and Combeferre’s food. See you in a bit.”

He threw his phone on the table and wiggled his eyebrows at Enjolras. “Marius has spent the night at some girl’s place. I have to say, I’m impressed.”

“I have to say, I really don’t care,” Enjolras shot back. He didn’t quite understand why his friends were so invested in their relationships and their casual sex friends or whatever it was that they had, why it was such a big deal when they brought home a girl whose name they didn’t even know and who crept out of their room in the cold light of morning before they were even awake. The last time he’d been with someone was nearly four years ago, then he’d kissed a guy on New Year’s Eve two years ago, nothing else had happened ever since and he wasn’t all too worked up about it. It wasn’t important.

Courfeyrac watched him, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Please get me coffee, I’ll pay you in love,” he drawled.

Enjolras only rewarded him with a withering look and turned his attention back to the article he had been reading, but Courfeyrac wouldn’t let him read in peace. “Do you have food?” He rubbed his eyes. “And maybe some painkillers?”

“I’m sure we do,” Enjolras muttered, not even looking up this time.

“Enjolras, I know you’re cold-hearted, but I also know that deep down you don’t want me to starve to death on your sofa.” Courfeyrac even tried his puppy glace, which Enjolras luckily was immune to.

“It’s not my problem that you’re too lazy to get your ass off my sofa, which I let you sleep on when you were incapable of getting into your own flat.”

“And I’m enormously grateful for that,” Courfeyrac said and sat up slowly, looking down on himself, tugging at the green jumper he was wearing. “That’s not mine.”

“Maybe it’s your friend’s.”

“My... friend’s?” Courfeyrac repeated slowly, clearly not knowing which friend Enjolras was talking about.

“The guy who dragged you home? Dressed all in black, looking like he was about to rob a bank?” Courfeyrac still stared at him blankly. “Very blue eyes?” Enjolras tried, not even sure why he remembered that particular fact.

Courfeyrac’s face lit up. “Grantaire,” he said, nodding. He scratched at one of the paint stains on the jumper. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s his.” He sighed.  “But where the fuck is my jacket?”

Enjolras snorted. “Can’t help with that, sorry.”

“Can you at least get me coffee?” Courfeyrac asked, sticking out his bottom lip and wrapping himself in his blanket again. “Please,” he whispered.

“Fine,” Enjolras grumbled, “are you going to leave me alone then?”

“Maybe,” Courfeyrac answered, “it depends, really. What about food?”

“I’m not making you breakfast,” Enjolras scowled.

“Yeah, it’s probably for the best if you don’t, I remember the last time you tried, you burnt all the bacon.”

“Please don’t remind me.” Cooking just wasn’t something people should let him do, at least not without expecting him to set the kitchen on fire.

“You could wake up Combeferre, though, he makes great eggs and bacon,” Courfeyrac suggested innocently.

“I’m not waking up Combeferre.” There weren’t many ways of pissing off Combeferre, but waking him up before 9 on a Saturday morning sure was one of them. “You’re not waking him up either,” Enjolras added when he saw Courfeyrac glancing at Combeferre’s door.

“I’ll just wait here then,” Courfeyrac mused and flopped back down on the sofa with a sigh.

* * *

Grantaire woke up to a text from Courfeyrac, thanking him profusely and promising to make it up to him, and to Jehan sitting next to him, with a book in his lap, shovelling waffles into his mouth. For a second he thought he might have ended up in the wrong bed the night before, because, well, that had happened before on multiple occasions.

He’d been drunk every single time, though, and since his head wasn’t buzzing and he didn’t feel like a freight train had rolled over him, he was pretty sure he’d been completely sober. Well, not completely, it often happened that people bought him drinks as well and who was he to say no to such generosity.

“Why are you in my bed?” Grantaire asked, “and more importantly, why didn’t you bring waffles for me?”

Jehan smiled and silently reached for another plate on the nightstand and held it under Grantaire’s nose. “I’d never come into your kingdom without bearing gifts,” Jehan said cheerfully.

“This is why you’re my favourite,” Grantaire mumbled and took the plate form Jehan. “Any plans for today? A new art gallery opened around the corner from campus, do you want to go check it out?”

“I actually promised Joly I’d help him hand out pamphlets and flyers.”

“Which one is Joly?”

“The one who had a meltdown about the peanuts at your bar,” Jehan said and stole a piece of waffle from Grantaire. Once again, he found himself wondering how Jehan could eat that much and still look like the beanstalk he was.

“Ah, I remember,” Grantaire said with a snort.

Jehan poked him in the ribs. “Don’t be mean, he’s a really nice guy, you’d like him.” He grinned widely. “Maybe you should come and help us.”

Grantaire huffed. “No fucking way.” He sure as hell wouldn’t freeze his ass off to hand out flyers on a Saturday afternoon. There were better things to do.

“I love it when you pretend that you don’t give a crap,” Jehan said lightly and brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“I’m not pretending,” Grantaire said, “I really don’t, I’d rather watch a film and drink some hot chocolate while you’re out there freezing to death.”

“Don’t think I don’t know about that one time you helped Cosette with the posters for that charity book fair she organised with her dad.”

“That’s different,” Grantaire mumbled.

Jehan raised an eyebrow. “How is that different?”

Grantaire finished the rest of his waffles, sighed, and then turned to look at Jehan, hopefully managing to look at least a bit exasperated. “Have you tried saying no to Cosette?”

Jehan smiled at him sweetly, probably not believing for a second that Grantaire would be too scared to say no to an angel like Cosette. He was right, of course, he could have said no, but that didn’t mean that Cosette couldn’t be outright terrifying if she wanted to. “I’m not saying you don’t have a point,” Jehan said and ruffled his hair, “but we both know that’s not the reason why you helped.” And with that he picked up their empty plates, placed a kiss on Grantaire’s cheek and crawled off his bed.

He came back a while later, fully dressed, wearing one of Grantaire’s plaid shirts, way too loose on his tiny frame. He’d known Jehan for a couple of years now and he didn’t even so much as think about his clothing choices anymore and also didn’t care when some of his shirts somehow wandered from his room to Jehan’s.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” A smile was playing around his lips. Grantaire thought he probably looked like shit, which was the cause for Jehan’s amusement. Jehan swiftly braided his hair, his smile never faltering. He was entirely too happy for a Saturday morning. “I might go pick up some books on the way.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. Jehan was always buying books. If he wanted Jehan to be distracted for a day, he’d just leave him at a bookshop in the morning and he’d probably still be there in the evening, not bored in the slightest.

“Thanks for the offer, but watching you buy books isn’t really what I had in mind for today,” Grantaire muttered and pulled his bedsheets up to his chin. “I might come by to watch you hand out flyers if I ever make it out of bed, though.”

“That’ll be the highlight of my day,” Jehan said sweetly and took off, humming the same song Courfeyrac had been singing the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is (as always) much appreciated  
> (there might be courfeyrac/jehan at some point, I hope you don't mind)


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire did make it out of bed eventually. He ignored the chaos in his room, ignored that he had two assignments waiting for him, ignored that there was hardly any food left in their fridge and that it was probably his turn to do the shopping. They could always order pizza. Having Jehan as a flatmate was a blessing, truly, he only laughed when Grantaire came home with art supplies instead of milk and bread and instant noodles.

There was an armchair in their living room that was covered entirely in Jehan’s clothes, piles of books next to the bookshelves that had started overflowing a long time ago, because neither Jehan nor Grantaire had any self-control when they entered a bookshop.

Their whole flat was a mess, Grantaire couldn’t even remember the last time one of them had vacuumed the place, it was cluttered, it was every mother’s worst nightmare, but it was home.

Grantaire was halfway through the first part of The Lord of the Rings, had his second mug of hot chocolate in front of him and was sketching characters from the film – in his sketchbook for once, the nice leather-bound one Jehan had given him, not on some scrap of paper – when he received a text from Eponine. Closely followed by another one. And  then another.

Ponine: _help me_

Ponine: _i’m serious get ur lazy ass over here_

Ponine: _i’m at work btw_

The first thing he noticed that she’d changed her name in his contacts, what had first been Evil Barista Who Makes Wicked Coffee was now simply Ponine. He’d have to keep a better eye on his phone from now on, Eponine came from a family of thieves after all.

From the fact that she was still at work and had sent a text instead of just calling him, Grantaire gathered that it probably wasn’t too urgent, so he let Eponine know that he’d probably be on his way in a bit if he ever found the energy to get off the sofa, took his time finishing his hot chocolate and then pulled on his coat, the beanie and scarf Jehan had knit for him last winter and grabbed a pair of gloves, which he stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

He lit a cigarette, contemplating whether he should ask Bahorel if he was up for a little match later on or if a pub crawl was the better alternative. Ultimately, it didn’t matter what he’d end up doing as long as he did _something_. He felt an itch crawling under his skin, one that was well-known to him, it came and went and he knew it wouldn’t just magically go away. Over the years he’d leant how to deal with it.

Kickboxing with Bahorel helped, chain-smoking helped, getting off with strangers did, too, sometimes, getting mindlessly drunk helped even more, Jehan helped as well, because he understood, at least in a way, although Grantaire always felt guilty for inflicting his problems on other people, because no one should have to put up with him and the mess he was on a bad day.

He sighed, started typing out a text to Bahorel, then decided he’d see what Eponine’s crisis was first, because who knew, that might take some time. Grantaire was hoping it wasn’t about Montparnasse again.

The guy was nothing but trouble and Grantaire had been nothing but gleeful when Eponine had finally slammed her door in his face and told him to get the fuck out of her life. Of course he hadn’t left her alone, like the douchebag he was, and a particular night a couple of months ago had ended in Grantaire breaking his nose, which had probably been the better alternative to what Bahorel had been about to do to him. He hadn’t bothered her again after that, but who knew, maybe he’d shown up again. If the chance were to present itself, Grantaire would gladly do it again.

It wasn’t until he saw the little group of people from afar that he remembered what Jehan was doing today and that he’d promised to come visit him. Jehan was there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, together with a few other people. One of them was chatting to a passerby, another one, whom Grantaire recognised as Joly, was talking to someone all too familiar, waving his hands around excitedly, while the other tried to hand out flyers, only moderately successful.

Usually people didn’t care, walked past with their eyes fixed on the pavement, didn’t want to be bothered, didn’t want to bother, especially not in this weather. He stubbed out his cigarette as he got closer, he could see the panicked look in Joly’s eyes when he approached, saw Enjolras eye him , quite obviously remembering him from the night before, and Jehan came running towards him laughing happily.

“You came,” he squealed and slung his arm around Grantaire to push him over to his friends, past the guy who now had an audience of two.

Grantaire waved awkwardly when they came to a halt.

“Do you all know each other?” Jehan asked, and Joly nodded, only Enjolras was staring at Grantaire like he was seeing a ghost. “Enjolras, you know Grantaire, right?”

That, at last, seemed to snap him out of it. “We’ve met briefly.”

Grantaire nodded. “I hope Courf didn’t throw up on your couch.” Frankly, that wasn’t uncommon with Courfeyrac. Grantaire was sure he knew his limit, but simply chose to ignore it.

Enjolras’ lips were twitching. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Why, what’s wrong with Courfeyrac?” Jehan looked about as worried as Joly, who was still holding out flyers, but didn’t pay attention whether people took one or not, listening intently to their conversation.

“Nothing, he just had a bit too much to drink last night,” Grantaire explained. Joly relaxed visibly and turned back to his task, Jehan nodded understandingly. He’d once taken Courfeyrac and Grantaire home with him, both of them almost too drunk to walk, he knew the drill.

“And he didn’t have keys, so he stayed on our couch,” Enjolras chipped in. “It was delightful.”

Jehan grinned and they fell silent. Grantaire shuffled his feet and tugged his beanie back over his ears. “Well, I better get going.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to help?” Jehan asked with a grin, rubbing his cold fingers.

“Sorry, no time to help with your completely useless endeavour,” Grantaire said cheerfully.

Enjolras frowned. “Completely useless? You don’t even know what this is about.”

Grantaire would lie if he said he wasn’t amused by his outraged expression. “I don’t need to know what it’s about to know that no one gives a crap, look around, no one’s stopping.” He tilted his head as he looked up at Enjolras, who was now fuming.

“That doesn’t mean what we’re doing is useless,” Enjolras grit out, “it’s worth the effort.”

“Is it,” Grantaire mused, trying not to laugh at Enjolras’ genuine anger. He was just teasing, obviously, but Jehan’s gaze darted from Grantaire to Enjolras and back again, seemingly a little uncomfortable. “Well, I certainly won’t stop you wasting your time, I have somewhere to be.”

“Where are you going?” Jehan inquired quickly, before Enjolras could even open his mouth.

“Eponine needs help with... something. I don’t even know, she asked me to come round.” He took another cigarette from his pocket, which earned him a disdainful look from Enjolras.

“I’ll see you tonight then.” It almost sounded like a question, maybe Jehan had noticed how his fingers were trembling around his cigarette.

“Yeah, I guess.” Somewhat non-committal, but Jehan seemed to deem it a sufficient answer. Grantaire nodded at Enjolras, who only looked at him gloomily, waved at Joly and his friend and was about to leave when he saw Jehan thrust his hands into his pockets.

He put his unlit cigarette between his lips, then fished his gloves out of his own pockets and tugged them on Jehan’s hands like he was some kindergartener. “Here, I don’t want you to get frostbite or something.”

Jehan blew him a kiss and Grantaire was off, not sparing another glance at Enjolras. It wasn’t like he’d need his gloves, the café Eponine worked at was basically around the corner, so his cigarette ended up tucked behind his ear, where he’d probably forget about it until someone would inevitably try to steal it. Most likely Eponine.

“Sit down,” Eponine ordered as soon as he’d set foot into the café, pointing at a chair behind the counter. “Took you long enough.”

“Ohh Eponine, I love it when you’re bossy,” Grantaire said, batting his eyes at her, while she poured coffee into a paper cup and handed it to a customer who seemed a little taken aback by the two of them.

Grantaire waited patiently as she got the orders for three more people, doodling on napkins with a pen he’d snatched from the counter. He looked at her expectantly when she eventually turned to him and handed him a cup of coffee.

“I have a problem,” she said. There was an almost manic glint in her eyes.

“I figured that much,” Grantaire retorted, tapping the pen against his knee. “Care to elaborate?”

“Right,” she said and stared at the wall behind Grantaire for a minute, chewing her bottom lip. “Okay, so there’s this guy. He’s really nice and a bit like that golden retriever puppy Jehan wanted to take home from the shelter a couple of weeks ago and also terribly good-looking and he comes here a lot and maybe I’m a bit in love with him...” She took a deep breath. “Anyway,” she continued, “last night I was at the Corinthe and so was he and-”

“You were at the Corinthe last night?” He didn’t remember seeing her anywhere, which was weird, because Eponine usually stood out in one way or another.

“I was,” she said, then quickly turned around to serve another customer. Grantaire took the time to finish his doodle of Legolas. “Right, so I was there.” The pen vanished from between his fingers and Eponine glared at him. “Please pay attention.”

“I am paying attention,” Grantaire clarified and took to drinking his coffee instead.

“Good,” Eponine said, but didn’t give back the pen. “I didn’t even have time to get a drink, I walked in there and then he suddenly appeared next to me and asked me, _me_ of all people, if I knew this girl and if I knew how to find her.”

“Wait a second,” Grantaire interrupted. “The guy you’re so madly in love with talked to you, but only because he wanted to find another girl?” She nodded. “Man, your life sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. “And since I’m obviously the most stupid person on this planet, instead of walking away and drowning my sorrow in a bottle of vodka, I asked _which girl_.” Her eyes grew wider with every word and her tone got increasingly desperate. “Now guess which girl, no don’t guess, I’ll tell you.” She made a dramatic pause before she continued. “He was looking for Cosette.” The manic glint was back now, too, and Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not he should be worried.

He snorted, already knowing what happened next. He knew that Eponine had some sort of history with Cosette, he’d never asked her about it, though. “You helped him, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” she said and threw her arms in the air, “he looked like he was about to cry, you would have done the same.”

“Did you find her?”

“No, even though we were looking for her all night. But hey, she still lives with her dad, she probably has a curfew.”

“Hey, now, she’s really nice, don’t be like that.” Cosette was absolutely lovely, always there to help, much like her father.

“I know, that makes it even worse,” Eponine grumbled. “Well, puppy and I got shitfaced after that and he went home with me.” She shrugged. “Nothing happened. I told him where Cosette lives, though, I hope she doesn’t mind.”

Grantaire shook his head, laughing. “I’m not sure if I can help you.”

“You can help me by getting incredibly drunk with me tonight.”

Grantaire nodded gravely. “That I can do.”

He stuck around for a little while longer, listening to Eponine lament, promised to meet her at the Corinthe later on and took the long way home, so he had a little time to think and to smoke another cigarette. The one behind his ear had, of course, vanished.

* * *

Enjolras spent the rest of the day looking grumpy and snapping at people who obviously didn’t have anything to do with his terrible mood, he just couldn’t help it. People like Grantaire were exasperating, and yes, Enjolras loved a good, reasonable discussion, liked it when people gave him a chance to convince them, but Grantaire’s “no one gives a shit anyway” attitude left no room for reasoning, it was downright cynical.

He knew he shouldn’t even waste another thought, there was no reason for him to be this angry, he barely even knew Grantaire. It was people like him in general, Enjolras told himself, not only him, and still, all he could think about was his mocking grin and his piercing blue eyes, alight with amusement.

Jehan had smiled at him, a little unsure, after Grantaire had left. “He doesn’t mean it,” he’d said, his voice quiet.

Enjolras had only shrugged. He liked Jehan, he was a wonderful addition to their group, and who was Enjolras to judge what kind of people he was hanging around with. Surely, Grantaire didn’t seem to be a bad person, he’d dragged Courfeyrac across town just the night before to make sure he got home safely, he could vividly remember the genuine smile on his face when he’d given his gloves to Jehan, whose teeth had been chattering all afternoon. Still, Enjolras was hoping that neither Jehan nor Courfeyrac would bring Grantaire to one of their meetings.

Combeferre had come to pick him up when Joly hadn’t needed him anymore and they were now on their way to the next best coffee shop, Combeferre listening intently to his complaints, not even trying to interrupt him. Enjolras was still ranting when they entered the small café, didn’t stop when Combeferre ordered coffee for both of them and ignored when the barista looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“I just don’t understand how anyone could be so indifferent, there are matters that concern everyone,” Enjolras said, probably for the third time. He usually didn’t repeat himself, but he was furious.

They found an unoccupied table in the back and when he flopped into his chair he finally stopped talking, waiting for Combeferre to speak, to tell him to take a deep breath and to calm down, because he was being ridiculous.

“You’re usually not this upset when someone doesn’t agree with you,” Combeferre mused.  Trust him to get right to the point.

“I know,” Enjolras grumbled, “there’s just something about this guy that... he just...” He waved his hands around helplessly. “He’s infuriating.”

Combeferre hummed and stared into his mug for a while. “I don’t actually think it’s necessary to tell you this, but Enjolras, just ignore him.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I tried.” He started fiddling with his napkin, he felt restless. “He’s friends with Jehan and Courfeyrac, what if he just keeps tagging along, I don’t have time for someone antagonising me all the time.”

“Honestly, I think it’s pretty unlikely that you’ll see him again anytime soon.”

Enjolras heard Combeferre’s phone ding nearly at the same time as he felt his own vibrate in his pocket. It was a text from Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac: _Corinthe tonight? :) x_

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asked him after a glance at his phone.

Enjolras nodded. He’d probably sent that text to everyone in his contacts. He pocketed his phone with a sigh, not sure why Courfeyrac even bothered asking, Enjolras hated going out, there were a billion things he’d rather do than sit on an uncomfortable bar stool all night, with people around him trying to bully him into having another drink. The music was always horrible and way too loud, and while everyone around him got more cheerful with each drink, his mood deteriorated by the minute.

Combeferre felt the same, which was why Enjolras was so surprised when Combeferre pushed up his glasses and shrugged. “We should go.”

Enjolras almost choked on his coffee. “What?” He frowned. “Are you serious?”

“I am,” Combeferre said, smiling at his astonishment. “God forbid, we might have fun.”

Enjolras snorted. “Yeah, right.” He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone out, it must have been months.

“It might take your mind of things as well,” Combeferre continued. “You could use some distraction.”

That was probably Combeferre’s way of telling him that he’d be a pain in the ass all evening, which he didn’t want to put up with, and once again Enjolras was glad that Combeferre always found a way to word these things so nicely. “Fine,” he agreed eventually, not entirely convinced, though.

Enjolras sent a text to Courfeyrac, letting him know that they’d be joining him and whoever else would be there. Courfeyrac’s answer was made up entirely of exclamation marks and smiley faces.

Before they left, Enjolras got another coffee to go, Combeferre whispering something about his coffee consumption being out of control, but since he’d been talked into going out tonight he needed something to keep him awake.

While he was waiting for his order, he spotted a napkin at the side of the counter, and on it was one of the characters of The Lord of the Rings. The elf, his brain provided, knowing that Courfeyrac would cry in despair because Enjolras didn’t know his name. Courfeyrac had once made them sit through all three extended versions of those bloody films, needless to say, Enjolras had been asleep before the end of the first movie.

Enjolras looked around, feeling like he was about to commit some horrendous crime, saw that the barista was busy getting his coffee, made sure Combeferre wasn’t watching, and quickly grabbed the napkin and carefully tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

Of course, there was no way of knowing that it was from the same person who’d left all the other doodles lying around, but Enjolras liked to think so. He put it into the old shoebox under his bed with all the other ones he’d found over the last year or so. If they didn’t appreciate their own work, he would.

That done, he had to deal with the first problem of the evening, which was his wardrobe. He didn’t even know what people wore when they went out with their friends, he told himself it didn’t matter, but considered asking Combeferre for help all the same.

After glaring at his clothes for an embarrassingly long time, he grabbed his black jeans and his favourite red shirt, tied his hair into a bun and went to the living room, where Combeferre was already waiting for him, thankfully refraining from commenting on his outfit, since he probably looked like an utter mess.

The walk to the Corinthe wasn’t too long, Combeferre had been there before, he’d told him, so Enjolras let him lead the way. He felt strangely excited, he was thinking neither about the essays he still hadn’t written, nor about Grantaire, he was simply looking forward to a nice evening with his friends.

He discussed some ideas for their next meeting with Combeferre on the way. There were quite a few things they needed to get done, including a fundraiser for the children’s hospital that wasn’t even organised by them, Enjolras had only offered their support, which had been appreciated greatly. It was mainly about collecting donations, like toys and books, and raising awareness, maybe putting up some posters.

It wasn’t what they usually did, they were more about demonstrations and rallies, making their voices heard, but if it was for a good cause they were always happy to help.

Now, Enjolras’ second problem of the evening, which was far bigger than the one involving his struggle with his clothes, came up when he entered the Corinthe with Combeferre, still chatting animatedly. Because, right next to Courfeyrac, smiling happily, hands wrapped around a bottle of beer, sat Grantaire, who probably saw him in the exact same moment, because his eyes widened and he leaned over to say something to Courfeyrac.

Enjolras let out a frustrated groan, ignored the questioning look Combeferre shot him, and simply marched towards the table they were all sitting at, determined that nothing, nothing at all, would ruin this evening for him.

* * *

Grantaire wasn’t sure what was worse: the general fact that Enjolras had just come through the door or his cold glance when he spotted Grantaire amidst his friends. Frankly, that glance could cause hell to freeze over.

No, the worst part was probably that he pulled his coat off, and by God, Grantaire had never been more attracted to anyone in his entire life. The fact that Enjolras was wearing the tightest jeans on this goddamned planet didn’t help at all.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mumbled and forced himself not to down his beer and get something much, much stronger. Bahorel was working tonight, only charging half for Grantaire’s drinks, so he was already on the way to being pleasantly buzzed.

“What?” Courfeyrac asked.

“You didn’t tell me he would be here,” Grantaire said and nodded at Enjolras, who was slowly making his way towards them, closely followed by his bespectacled right-hand man.

Courfeyrac waved at them frantically, as if they hadn’t seen them already. Grantaire was somewhat grateful for more people to show up, only that he would have preferred, well, other people. Eponine still wasn’t here, had only sent a text saying she might be late, so he’d been stuck with Jehan and Courfeyrac, who’d been talking about some band that Jehan loved so much. Grantaire was pretty sure that Courfeyrac didn’t even like them, but was still hanging on Jehan’s lips like he was telling him the secret to eternal life. He’d tried to listen, but had given up after a while. At least he’d remembered why the song Courfeyrac had been singing the night before had sounded so familiar, he’d heard Jehan sing it a billion times.

He’d briefly considered asking Bahorel if he needed help behind the bar just so he wouldn’t die of boredom, but had settled on getting as drunk as possible, wondering if it would help Courfeyrac and Jehan if he just knocked their heads together.

Now the two newcomers were sitting down at their table and Grantaire was only a little disappointed when Enjolras’ friend, and not Enjolras himself, sat down next to him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Combeferre,” Enjolras’ friend said and held out his hand to Grantaire.

Grantaire shook it, a little dumbfounded. He hadn’t expected him to be this nice. “Grantaire,” he managed to say eventually and shook his hand.

Combeferre smiled almost knowingly. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Enjolras coughed, Grantaire wasn’t sure whether it was deliberate or not. Grantaire leaned forward so he could look at him. “Hello to you, too,” he chirped, “I’m glad you don’t look as grumpy as you did earlier, grumpy doesn’t suit you.” Good lord, now he was flirting with Enjolras, was that what it had come to.

Enjolras, however, didn’t seem to notice, only pursed his lips and rewarded him with yet another icy glare. Courfeyrac and Jehan were back to ignoring the world around them, Combeferre seemed to find the situation he found himself in rather funny, though, because he kept glancing back at forth between Enjolras and Grantaire, looking like he had to try really hard not to burst out laughing.

Three or four drinks later – really, who was counting – Grantaire was discussing philosophy with Combeferre, not even trying to hide how impressed he was with how smart this guy was. He liked him, he was a pleasant enough fellow, a lot calmer than Enjolras, and able to take a joke, which was what Grantaire liked best about him.

Feuilly joined them, but only for approximately five minutes until he was dragged away by two girls and not to be found again. Grantaire wasn’t sure how he did it, but he assumed that it had something to do with his hair, an assumption he shared with Combeferre, who hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol all evening, but still burst out laughing, which earned Grantaire more death glares from Enjolras.

He got a text from Eponine, telling him she couldn’t make it after all. He stumbled outside, feeling how much he’d really had to drink now that he had to walk, preferably without running straight into other people.

He dialled Eponine’s number. “What happened to getting mindlessly drunk?”

“’Aire, I’m so sorry, Gavroche wasn’t feeling well and I didn’t want to leave him home alone.” She sounded resigned, exhausted and Grantaire wished he could do something to help her. It wasn’t easy for her, he was sure, having to deal with a kid, even though Grantaire was old enough to take care of himself at most times.

“I hope the little bugger feels better soon and tell me if you need any help, alright?” He’d offered many times before, to watch him when she didn’t have time so she wouldn’t have to pay for a babysitter, or to take him to the zoo or whatever it was that kids liked to do so she could have some time off from everything, but Eponine kept declining. Maybe because she knew that he’d make an awful babysitter, maybe because she was determined to do this on her own.

She sighed. “I will. Thanks, Grantaire.”

He quickly went back inside, took his seat next to Combeferre, who grinned and pointed at Courfeyrac and Jehan. “How long do you think it’s going to take for one of them to end up in the other’s lap?”

“Maybe we should get them drinks to speed up the process,” Grantaire suggested. He wasn’t even sure if Courfeyrac realised that his hand was resting on Jehan’s thigh.

The pub started emptying soon enough, people moved on to nightclubs, to other bars, to their beds. Enjolras had gone to get himself another drink and had ended up talking to Bahorel, who had apparently forgotten all about his barkeeper duties, and with whom Enjolras seemed to get along quite well.

Grantaire was watching them curiously, hoping that his staring wasn’t too obvious, but by the way Combeferre looked at him he judged that he wasn’t fooling anyone. Had he been sober he would have been embarrassed that he’d caught him staring, but the smile that was playing around Combeferre’s lips was nothing but friendly, so he didn’t even feel too guilty when his eyes kept darting back to Enjolras.

He walked over after he’d been watching for a while, leaned against an empty barstool and got a new drink from Bahorel. Enjolras didn’t try nearly hard enough to hide his disapproval.

“What?” Grantaire snapped. He was starting to get tired of the way Enjolras looked at him, like he was the most disgusting person he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” And maybe it was Grantaire’s imagination, maybe he’d really had too much to drink, but Enjolras sounded downright belligerent.

Grantaire slammed his glass down on the bar. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he spat, suddenly feeling aggressive.

 Enjolras slowly slid off his barstool, his face smooth as marble and betraying no emotion. “Time to go home,” he said quietly, his eyes no less fierce than they’d been in the afternoon, and started walking back towards their table.

“Must have been painful when you fell from heaven,” Grantaire called after him, “maybe that’s why you’re acting all butt-hurt.”

He heard Bahorel snort behind him. Grantaire turned around and shrugged when Bahorel shook his head.

“You like him,” Bahorel said, grinning smugly.

“God, I’m so fucked,” Grantaire muttered and downed his drink.

Bahorel nodded. “You sure are.”

* * *

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he walked away, taking Combeferre’s advice and ignoring him. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

“Can we go?” he asked Combeferre as soon as he got back to their table, where his friend was chatting with Courfeyrac and Jehan. Maybe he was sounding rude, but his patience was wearing thin and all he wanted to do was go to bed.

Combeferre’s eyes flickered to the bar, then back to Enjolras, who looked like he was about to commit murder, and shrugged. “Sure.”

“Courf, are you coming with us?” Enjolras asked, even though Courfeyrac looked perfectly capable of getting home by himself for once.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I think I’m going to stay a little longer,” he said, eyes on Jehan.

They said their goodbyes, Combeferre even waved at Grantaire, who returned the gesture somewhat half-heartedly, while Enjolras was staring daggers at him.

They walked home in silence, but Enjolras could almost feel how much Combeferre wanted to say something and the only reason he was holding back was because Enjolras probably wouldn’t like what he had to say.

“Just say it,” Enjolras grumbled when they’d almost reached their building.

Combeferre laughed quietly. “Honestly, I think he’s very agreeable.”

“ _Agreeable_? Are you serious?”

“I mean, I see why you have a problem with him, but he’s a perfectly nice guy,” Combeferre explained. “Have you considered the possibility that he keeps provoking you, because he knows exactly how much it pisses you off and he thinks it’s... amusing?” Combeferre seemed to find the whole situation a little too amusing as well.

Enjolras huffed. “Of course. He thinks it’s fucking hilarious.”

“Just give him a chance.”

“I would, I just always feel the urge to punch him in the face as soon as he opens his mouth.”

He kept grumbling all the way home, up the stairs and into their flat, followed Combeferre into his room, still complaining. Combeferre was used to it by now, it was just that usually Enjolras was ranting about the government or world politics, sometimes one of his professors, not some guy he barely even knew.

He didn’t stop until Combeferre wordlessly pushed him out the door and into his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so someone asked what the song was and I tried to work it into the fic, but it didn't work out, so I'll just tell you down here, it's Ho Hey by The Lumineers.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, I didn't actually mean for this to get so long.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you sure you got enough food?” Jehan asked, taking in the mess in their kitchen. “I mean, this probably won’t feed more than a hundred people.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “It’s your fault, you couldn’t tell me how many people would be coming, so I made sure there’d be _enough_.”

Sure, maybe he’d gone a little overboard with the shopping. When Jehan had told him that he wanted to invite a couple of people to their place Grantaire had offered to make pizza, because if there was anything he was good at, that was it.

He was pretty sure that Jehan had actually meant to invite Courfeyrac, and just him, but had somehow chickened out last minute, so this whole thing had ended with him inviting everyone who’d been present at the Musain that moment. Grantaire hadn’t been told the whole story, but that was his best guess.

“Are you going to help or are you just going to stand here and look pretty?” Grantaire asked and tugged at Jehan’s braid.

Jehan giggled. “You don’t really want me to help with actual cooking, do you?”

“Right, get out of my kitchen,” Grantaire spun Jehan around and pushed him back into the living room. Jehan stuck out his tongue at him, but they both knew it was in the best interest of both of them. They’d tried to cook together once and it had been disastrous, because Jehan’s cooking skills didn’t actually extend making breakfast, which he’d failed to mention, so Grantaire had given Jehan instructions and had let him do his thing without supervision. Grantaire had then spent the better part of the evening scrubbing burnt food off their pans.

Courfeyrac was the first one to arrive, about one hour early, dropped off two bottles of wine in the kitchen and glanced upon the mess Grantaire was currently busy making with an expression of awe and fascination. “Are you planning on feeding a small army?

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “It was a... miscalculation. It’s Jehan’s fault.”

They’d be eating pizza for the rest of the week. No, quite frankly, they’d be eating pizza for the rest of their lives. He’d never been good at estimating, or at maths in general, and now it had finally come back to haunt him.

“Courf, be careful, he hits people with spatulas when they don’t appreciate his cooking,” Jehan called as he came walking into the kitchen and nearly bumped into Courfeyrac, who’d been retreating towards the door.

Grantaire pointed at the two of them with a spoon, dripping with tomato sauce. “No pizza for you.”

“You’re cruel,” Jehan mumbled, faking a sniffle.

Courfeyrac patted his back sympathetically and Grantaire shook his head at the two of them. “Please go away.”

“No, but seriously,” Courfeyrac said, eyebrows raised, “how many people are coming?”

Jehan bit his lip. “I’m not sure, I mean, Combeferre said he’d come over, Joly said he’d think about it, but I suppose if he comes, he’ll bring Bossuet and Musichetta. I don’t know about Marius. Or Enjolras.”

Enjolras. Right. Grantaire had completely forgotten that there was a risk of him showing up. He hadn’t talked to Jehan about him, about how Enjolras probably hated him, about how much he wanted to fuck him into his mattress until he couldn’t form coherent sentences anymore, until he was writhing underneath him, his pretty blond curls splayed over his pillow, his pale skin covered in sweat.

Grantaire coughed, hoping Courfeyrac and Jehan didn’t notice the way he was blushing all of a sudden.

“Well,” Grantaire finally managed, “Bahorel is coming and Feuilly is coming over after he’s closed his shop, Eponine might come and get some pizza for herself and Gavroche, she might even stay for a bit if she found a babysitter for him.”

“I think Marius said he’d bring his girl, so I guess it’s safe to say that-”

“Wait a second,” Jehan interrupted. “What girl?”

“Um, her name is Cosette, I’ve never met her, but according to Marius she’s _absolutely lovely_ ,” he said, trying to imitate Marius without bursting out laughing.

Grantaire froze. “Cosette? Oh my god, everything makes so much sense now, so Marius is the guy who asked Eponine for help.”

“I suppose we should warn Eponine then,” Jehan muttered, his phone already in his hand.

“Warn her?” Courfeyrac was still standing right next to Jehan, apparently not willing to move even so much as an inch.

“She’s sort of in love with your Marius,” Grantaire clarified. “And you didn’t get that from me, I have no desire to die a very painful death, which awaits me if she ever finds out.”

Courfeyrac made a show off zipping his lips shut and grabbed Jehan’s wrist. “Come on, we should let Grantaire do his work.”

He dragged Jehan out of the kitchen, leaving behind a suddenly anxious Grantaire. He managed to push the first pizza into the oven before he opened one of the bottles Courfeyrac had brought. After a while he turned on the radio, so he wouldn’t have to listen to Courfeyrac and Jehan joking and laughing in the living room.

When Combeferre suddenly appeared next to him, Grantaire almost dropped the bowl with the pizza dough. “God, you scared the shit out of me.” He turned down the radio and glanced into the living room, trying to see if Enjolras was there, too.

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre said and held up the dish he was carrying. “I brought dessert, can I put it in the fridge?”

“Sure, go ahead. You might have to shift things around a bit.”

Combeferre hummed and busied himself with rearranging everything they had in their fridge, while Grantaire tried not to think about all the things in there that probably already had a life of their own.

“Do you need help with...,” Combeferre vaguely gestured at the chaos on the counter, “...that.”

Grantaire considered the offer for a moment, because sure, he could use all the help he could get, but he also didn’t want the house to burn down. Combeferre didn’t seem the type, though, so Grantaire handed him a knife so he could cut up some onions. “Please don’t set anything on fire.”

Combeferre chuckled and promised he wouldn’t. Grantaire took the pizza out of the oven, put the next one in, and cut the first one up so he could start on making another one as soon as possible. He took a plate with pizza to the living room, where Courfeyrac and Jehan were playing Mario Kart, both of them too concentrated to acknowledge his presence. With a sigh, Grantaire went back to the kitchen. He’d be making pizza all evening. He definitely hadn’t thought this through.

Combeferre, it turned out, actually knew what he was doing.

Marius arrived not too much later with Cosette in tow, Marius looking a little jittery, Cosette calm as always. Bahorel wordlessly set a bottle of whiskey on the kitchen table, got himself some pizza and retreated back to the living room with a court nod at Grantaire and Combeferre.

Feuilly tried to help when he found them in the kitchen, but they soon realised that they were just in each other’s way, so he too joined everyone else in the living room. Joly and Bossuet were the last ones to arrive, they only quickly waved at them, then Joly dragged Bossuet away, mumbling something about not wanting him in close proximity of sharp knives.

At least Grantaire could remember all of their names now, he counted that as an achievement, he also remembered that their two latter guests usually had a girl in tow. Grantaire still wasn’t sure what their relationship was all about.

Enjolras hadn’t shown up either and Grantaire had been considering asking Combeferre for about half an hour. “Combeferre... do you, um... is Enjolras coming, too?” Good lord, why did he even sound this nervous, it was a perfectly normal question.

Combeferre smirked. “He’s at the hospital, but I suppose he’ll join us later.”

Something in Grantaire’s chest suddenly felt very tight. “At the hospital?”

“We’re helping out at a charity event at the children’s hospital in a couple of weeks, he’s there to discuss the details.”

“Oh,” was all he managed. He took a sip from his wine, watching the smirk on Combeferre’s face grow a little wider. Grantaire cleared his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had punched him in the face or something.”

Combeferre grinned from ear to ear now. “Between you and me,” he said, “I’m still waiting for that to happen.”

When there were only two pizzas left to bake, Grantaire ushered Combeferre out of the kitchen a little later, intending on starting to clean up, knowing full well that he’d hate himself the next day if he didn’t. He turned the radio back up, humming along as he dumped dishes into the sink.

“Do you need more pizza?” he called, hoping someone would hear him over the cheers and curses that always came with a good game of Mario Kart.

Jehan came waltzing into the kitchen only a few seconds later. “No more pizza.” His previously perfectly braided hair was now a mess, Grantaire didn’t even want to know what had happened. “Are you done soon?” Jehan tugged at the hem of his shirt. “We’re missing you out there.”

“I just want to get this mess under control,” Grantaire said, pointedly glancing at their sink, currently overflowing with dirty cutting boards and bowls and plates.

“I’ll take care of that later, come on.” Jehan wrapped his arms around Grantaire to get him to step away from the dirty dishes, which was how Enjolras found them, a hand raised in greeting, looking a little surprised.

“Enjolras, you came,” Jehan exclaimed happily and immediately let go of Grantaire so he could hug Enjolras. “Grantaire made pizza, help yourself.” He opened the fridge and took the dessert Combeferre had brought and bustled out of the kitchen, leaving Enjolras with Grantaire, who was staring at Enjolras like he was some kind of apparition.

His hair was falling loosely over his shoulders, his cheeks and nose were red from the cold and, for some strange reason, he was smiling at Grantaire. “Pizza?” Grantaire croaked, once he’d recovered from the image of perfection that presented itself to him in his tiny, untidy kitchen.

“Yes, thank you.” Enjolras took the plate that Grantaire handed him, but made no move. “Combeferre was just praising your cooking skills, you know, it takes a lot to impress him when it comes to cooking.”

Grantaire only gaped at him. Was he being _nice_?

“I suppose you didn’t make any with pineapple, did you?” Enjolras asked, gesturing at the pizza.

Now, that snapped Grantaire out of it. “Pineapple?”

“Yeah, pineapple. You know, there are people who like them on their pizza.”

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting,” Grantaire said, shaking his head in shock.

“Have you ever even tried it?” Enjolras inquired, his tone challenging.

“Of course not, who’d want to try an abomination like that.” Grantaire started sifting through their cupboards anyway.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked, way too close to his ear.

Grantaire turned to find him kneeling on the floor next to him, peering at the contents of the cupboard. “I’m looking for tinned pineapple, you can make your own fucking pizza.”

“It’s really not that important,” Enjolras said, suddenly sounding annoyed. “I’ll eat whatever you have.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, trying to ignore him while he looked at the various tins and eventually found the one he’d been looking for. It wasn’t even out of date. “Here. Now stop arguing with me _about pineapples_.”

Enjolras snorted. “Fine. Thank you.”

Grantaire watched Enjolras create the weirdest pizza he’d ever seen, glad he wouldn’t have to taste one bite of it, promising himself that he’d either make Enjolras eat all of it or make him take it home, because no one else would eat it otherwise, he was sure.

He set the timer when Enjolras pushed it into the oven, then turned back to the dishes, a little surprised when Enjolras picked up a dishcloth and started drying off plates. This was nice, Grantaire thought, they weren’t arguing and Enjolras wasn’t glaring at him for once. They’d come across each other a few times since they’d been to the Corinthe together and they hadn’t got along that well, to put it mildly.

“You’re much better company when you’re not spewing idealistic bullshit,” Grantaire muttered after a while. He said it almost fondly, which Enjolras seemed to pick up on, because he actually smiled at that.

“Let’s not tell the others that we argued about pineapples, okay?” was Enjolras’ response.

“Yeah, let’s keep that to ourselves, it’s-” The timer started beeping and Grantaire had to turn his attention elsewhere. “Okay, come on, let’s eat.”

Grantaire got himself some pepperoni pizza and made a grimace at Enjolras who was looking at his pizza like it wasn’t some god-awful creation from hell. “Be careful, the tray is still-” Too late, Enjolras was already cursing. “Hot,” he finished lamely.

He grabbed Enjolras’ wrist to run some cold water over his fingers, trying not to laugh at Enjolras’ pained expression.

* * *

“Really, Enjolras?” He could tell that Grantaire was only barely holding back his laughter.

“It’s not like I meant to touch it,” Enjolras grumbled. It didn’t even hurt that badly, he actually hardly felt it at all, the thing he was mostly aware of was how Grantaire’s fingers were wrapped around his wrist, keeping his fingers under the ice-cold water.

“Of course you didn’t,” Grantaire said and patted him on the back. He let go of his wrist then – and no, Enjolras definitely didn’t feel sad when he did – and proceeded to cut up Enjolras’ pizza.

“My hand slipped,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Of course it did.” Grantaire turned off the water and stalked off towards the living room, both of their plates in hand.

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile when their friends cheered for Grantaire, who bowed and settled on the floor next to Jehan’s feet, since there was absolutely no space for anyone else on the sofa or one of the two armchairs. Enjolras sat down next to him.

“I would have joined you earlier,” Grantaire said and took a bite from his pizza, “but Enjolras wanted pineapple on his pizza,” he continued and handed Enjolras his plate. Enjolras rolled his eyes at the collective groans and tried to ignore the look Grantaire shot him, saying _see, I’m not the only one who thinks what you’re eating is absolutely disgusting_ , before he started talking again. “Anyway, then Enjolras decided to burn his arm off, so-”

Joly, who had been laughing mere seconds ago, let out a squeak and sat up straight. “He what?”

“I just burnt my finger a little,” Enjolras clarified before Joly could get up to inspect his hand. “It’s really not that bad.” He elbowed Grantaire in the ribs.

“Right, now that we got that out of the way and we know that Enjolras is not dying,” Courfeyrac said from behind him, “let’s talk about your choice of pizza toppings.”

“No, really, let’s not,” Combeferre said, “We already know how that’s going to end.”

Grantaire did a horrible job at stifling his laughter. “Oh my god, you had that discussion before?”

“Enjolras nearly killed Courfeyrac, because he wouldn’t shut up about it,” Joly said. Bossuet nodded sadly, like they were telling war stories.

“But we still love you, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said, giggling into Jehan’s jumper.

“Yeah, even though you put weird shit on your pizza.”

Enjolras grunted. These people called themselves his friends.

At least they shut up about it for the rest of the evening. He was bullied into playing a game of Mario Kart and miraculously didn’t finish last, although he was pretty sure that Grantaire had deliberately poured himself some wine in the middle of the game just when he’d been about to overtake Enjolras.

Another one of Grantaire’s friends came over a little later, her kid brother in tow, and Enjolras recognised her as one of the baristas in his favourite coffee shop, the one where he’d found at least a third of the doodles he’d been collecting. When they left again it was almost eleven and Joly and Bossuet took off as well. Enjolras supposed that Joly would be helping out at the hospital again and wanted to get at least a little sleep. With them went Grantaire’s friend Feuilly, laden with leftover pizza.

Enjolras would have loved to go home, too, but Combeferre seemed to be quite comfortable in the armchair he was sitting in. Enjolras’ day had been exhausting. At first he’d had an appointment with one of his politics professors, who’d first praised his eloquence and eagerness and had then very bluntly told him that he should probably take it down a notch because he looked like he hadn’t slept in about two weeks. Enjolras had insisted that he was doing fine and wasn’t at all overworked, but now he was starting to think that maybe professor Lamarque had been right.

He’d gone to the library straight after, had finished his essays and had gone straight to the children’s hospital for another meeting. At least he didn’t have classes on Fridays, but somehow he’d still managed not to eat anything, save for the bagel he’d had for breakfast, until he’d got to Jehan’s. He’d never been more grateful for pizza. And Grantaire was a fantastic cook, it seemed. Enjolras had taken him for more of an instant meal kind of person and not someone who actually enjoyed cooking.

Now that he wasn’t hungry anymore, was sitting down and had nothing to think or to worry about, he could feel the exhaustion wash over him, did barely notice when Courfeyrac and Cosette started arguing over wish Disney film they should watch, missed how conflicted Marius was because he didn’t know whose side to take, hardly registered that Bahorel waved goodbye at them, saying that he wouldn’t risk having all his manliness taken away by watching Cinderella.

He didn’t even realise that his eyes were drooping shut and that his head came to a rest on Grantaire’s shoulder, not until Grantaire stiffened next to him. Enjolras sat up straight immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to... sorry.”

Grantaire blinked. “It’s fine, I was just surprised because I was suddenly being used as a pillow.” He grinned. “We do have actual pillows,” he added, “do you want one?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” They were the only ones left on the floor, Marius and Cosette had claimed the armchair that had been occupied by Joly and Bossuet, Courfeyrac and Jehan were spread out on the sofa and Combeferre was still lounging in the other armchair.

He was starting to get a little uncomfortable on the floor and he was sure that Courfeyrac and Jehan would make space for him if he asked, but he felt too tired to even open his mouth to ask, so he stayed exactly where he was. Enjolras shifted around trying to find a more comfortable position, until his hand landed on something hard that was sticking out from under the sofa.

He tugged at it and saw that it was a leather-bound book, which was quickly snatched away from him by Grantaire. “What is that?” He didn’t mean to be nosy, but he was grateful for anything that might keep him from falling asleep.

“Nothing,” Grantaire said pointedly and shoved it back under the sofa.

When Jehan put Aristocats into the DVD player a few minutes later, Enjolras was fast asleep on Grantaire’s shoulder again.

* * *

“Why is he doing this to me,” Grantaire whispered. It wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but he could hear Combeferre snort quietly to his left.

He was torn between not moving at all, so Enjolras would stay right where he was, curled up against him, snoring softly, and standing up to get as far away from him as possible, because this was clearly driving him insane.

Yes, sure, he’d noticed that Enjolras was sort of attractive, okay, maybe extremely attractive, and looked rather nice in skinny jeans, but now his hair was tickling Grantaire’s skin and Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ breath against his neck, and that just wasn’t fair. Because soon enough Enjolras would wake up and remember that he actually didn’t like Grantaire all that much.

He sighed and tried to concentrate on the film, only moderately successful at that.

Cosette and Marius got up to leave right after the end of the film, thanked them in hushed voices, and Grantaire glanced at Courfeyrac, who was still sitting on the sofa next to Jehan, looking like he really wasn’t in the mood to leave.

Jehan seemed to notice, because he sat up, one hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Well, you guys could just stay here.” His eyes flickered to Grantaire, searching for approval. “I mean, if you don’t want to walk back.”

“We have a blow-up mattress,” Grantaire chipped in. “Anyway, I don’t think you’ll get Enjolras to walk home.” Enjolras murmured something in his sleep at the mention of his name, but didn’t stir otherwise, just remained slumped against Grantaire, sleeping soundly.

“I suppose you’re right,” Combeferre mused.

They manoeuvred Enjolras onto the sofa and Grantaire got the blow-up mattress for Combeferre and even managed to set it up in the middle of the living room without any major injuries. Jehan handed a blanket to Combeferre and nudged Courfeyrac on the way over to Enjolras. “My bedroom is the first door on the right,” he said nonchalantly and draped a blanket over Enjolras.

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened and looked at Grantaire with a somewhat helpless expression. Grantaire only shrugged and stalked off towards his own room. He was used to it. Jehan looked adorable, sure, but he was also damn straightforward when he wanted to be. Jehan didn’t fuck around. Jehan had a black belt in karate and could probably take on Bahorel on a good day.

Grantaire only managed to kick off his jeans before he fell into bed. He definitely didn’t think of Enjolras as he fell asleep.

In the morning he almost had a heart attack when the door to his room opened and Jehan snuck inside. “There’s a man in my bed,” he said as soon as he’d closed the door.

Grantaire took a deep breath. “I believe you invited him there,” he muttered, his face still half-buried in his pillow.

“You’re not helping,” Jehan hissed and threw himself onto Grantaire’s bed.

Grantaire groaned. “You don’t need help.” He tried to swat at Jehan, who let out a screech. “Go back to him, let me sleep.”

“Grantaire, _please_.”

Grantaire turned around so he was facing Jehan. “What?”

“I really like him,” Jehan whispered, eyes darting to door as if someone could be standing outside, eavesdropping.

Either his brain was still asleep, or Grantaire really didn’t understand what the problem was. “So?”

“Well, you know Courfeyrac... he doesn’t do relationships.”

“What’s that thing people say about rules and exceptions,” Grantaire mumbled and pulled a pillow over his head.

Jehan grumbled something noncommittal, then Grantaire could feel his mattress shift. “Anyway, Courfeyrac said Combeferre makes fantastic pancakes, maybe he could help you make breakfast.”

“Help _me_ make breakfast?” Grantaire echoed, really not up for cooking breakfast for five people in their kitchen, which was still full of leftover pizza.

“Yeah, I mean, I would, but I have to get back to Courfeyrac.”

“Sure you would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think there's too much pizza in this chapter, you're probably right
> 
> (by the way, have I ever told you guys how much I love your comments)
> 
> edit: a lot of you seem to think that I'm opposed to pineapple as a pizza topping, so I feel like I need to clarify something: I am not Grantaire. I love pineapple. Even on my pizza. My opinion and Grantaire's (and Courfeyrac's) opinion are different things, please note that I don't necessarily agree with what I write.


	5. Chapter 5

“We’re never doing this again,” Grantaire said to his empty kitchen. He took a sip of his coffee and tried to convince himself that it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Which it was. There were dirty trays and dishes on every surface and everything was covered in dried tomato sauce. Their kitchen looked like a goddamned battlefield.

“That’s a shame, the pizza was great.”

Grantaire jumped at the sound of Enjolras’ voice. He was leaning in the doorway, clothes a little rumpled, but otherwise he looked entirely too awake and not nearly enough like he’d spent the night on their sofa.

“Still,” Grantaire mumbled, “next time we’re _ordering_ pizza.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Jehan meant to invite all of us,” Enjolras said. “I mean, when he said ‘You should come over sometime’, he probably meant you as in Courfeyrac and not you as a collective sort of you, but Marius didn’t really get that and he seemed pretty excited, so I suppose Jehan didn’t have the heart to say no.” Enjolras took a deep breath and shrugged.

“That actually explains a lot,” Grantaire muttered and got an empty cup for Enjolras. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.” Enjolras was still hovering next to the door, gazing at the leftover pizza.

“You can have it. You know, if you want to feed a small third world country or something,” Grantaire said, following his gaze.

Enjolras frowned. “That’s not funny. Malnutrition is a serious problem and-”

Grantaire interrupted him with a deep sigh. It was too early for arguing. “So, should we wake up Combeferre, I hear he makes amazing pancakes.”

“Believe me,” Enjolras said, “you do not want to wake up Combeferre.”

“Not a morning person?” Grantaire grinned. He understood that all too well.

Enjolras shook his head. “He really isn’t.”

“Well, it’s all about waking people up the right way, you know.” Grantaire got yet another cup, filled it with coffee and strode past Enjolras into the living room, where Combeferre was asleep on their blow-up mattress.

He sat down on the floor – under the watchful eyes of Enjolras – and held up the cup next to Combeferre’s face, waving his hand, so Combeferre would catch the scent of fresh coffee, something that no one in their right mind could resist. Unless Combeferre didn’t like coffee, which hopefully wasn’t the case.

“He’s going to murder you,” Enjolras whispered, “I know he doesn’t look particularly dangerous, but he really values getting a good night’s sleep.”

“I’d never kill Grantaire, he got me coffee,” Combeferre mumbled sleepily.

“See,” Grantaire said to Enjolras, a triumphant grin on his face.

They all had breakfast together, surprisingly without any bigger arguments, and Grantaire thought that maybe, maybe he could be friends with Enjolras.

* * *

For Enjolras, the evening at Jehan’s would be the last relaxed evening for the next two weeks. He wasn’t expecting to get much sleep until that charity event at the children’s hospital was over. He’d promised they’d help out at the event itself, but he’d promised they’d also take care of promoting it.

 They were already behind on the latter, so Enjolras had made sure everyone would come around to their meeting tonight, so they could make plans.

Even though Courfeyrac had promised to care of the social media part, they’d also been planning on putting up posters and the guy who’d been in charge of the posters, some acquaintance of Courfeyrac’s, had just sent him an email, letting him know that he wouldn’t get their posters done because he’d got a commission he needed to get done instead.

Enjolras wasn’t particularly happy about that turn of events, sent an angry text to Courfeyrac about his choice of friends, then sent a group email to everyone in their group asking if anyone knew someone who could make them some last minute posters and if they could bring them to their meeting later on.

Enjolras was sitting in his lecture, cursing quietly and checking his phone minutely, angry at himself because he wasn’t paying attention, until he finally got a reply halfway through. It was from Jehan, saying he knew someone who could help them out.

He relaxed a little then, trying not to think up horror scenarios concerning Jehan’s friend, although they probably couldn’t be any worse than the guy Courfeyrac had dug up.

Five minutes later he got another email, this time from his mother. He contemplated opening it, already knowing was it was about anyway, knowing he’d be grumpy for approximately a week if he read it. Enjolras did open it eventually, read the usual pleas that at some point turned into threats, mentions of family dinners he wouldn’t go to, his cousin’s wedding that he probably had to go to, and so on, and chose not to answer it, as always.

Combeferre didn’t seem to mind Enjolras’ silence when they walked to the Musain together that evening. Their friends were already engaged in a discussion when they got there, so Enjolras sat down to listen and wait until they were done.

It took him a while to realise that there should be an unfamiliar face amongst his friends. “Jehan, where’s your guy?” Enjolras asked when the voices had died down.

Jehan made a face and wrapped a loose strand of hair around his finger. “I’m sorry, he should be here by now. I’ll text him.”

He was talking to Bossuet and Combeferre, because the city council had decided on cutting the funds for a social housing project they’d been supporting from the start, trying figure out what options they had, when he saw Grantaire walking towards their tables.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Enjolras hadn’t meant for it to sound quite as snappy as it did, but it wasn’t exactly his day, Jehan’s guy still hadn’t shown up and the email from his parents hadn’t made him much happier either. The last thing he needed was someone to tell him that everything he did was useless, tearing apart every word he said.

Grantaire only blinked at him, shot a pointed look at Jehan and walked right back out the door without saying a word.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre started, but was interrupted by Jehan.

“He was here to help, you know.”

Enjolras winced. He’d never heard Jehan sound so angry. “What was he going to help with?”

“Well, you said we needed someone to make some last minute posters and Grantaire’s an art student, he said he’d do it.”

Enjolras could have kicked himself in the face. As much of a nuisance Grantaire could be, they really needed all the help they could get.

Combeferre glanced at Enjolras, then at the door, then back at Enjolras.

“Right, I’ll... go.”

* * *

He’d known it was a bad idea. The second Jehan had opened his mouth, Grantaire had known that this wouldn’t end well. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him when he’d agreed to come to the meeting with Jehan, maybe some part of him had thought that it would somehow please Enjolras, and anyway he liked watching Enjolras talk, so it wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.

Clearly Enjolras didn’t want him there, though, and hadn’t he spent the last couple of nights doing anything but sleeping and the whole day struggling with crippling self-doubt and annoyance because one of his assignments wouldn’t turn out the way he wanted, he might have stuck around anyway, he might have ignored the way Enjolras had snapped at him, might have snapped back and stayed. But not today.

The universe didn’t seem to like him too much, his lighter wasn’t working, it was starting to drizzle and his bus was nowhere in sight. Grantaire pulled his hood over his head, trying to will the rain to stop with his mind.

“Grantaire?”

Yes, the universe clearly hated him.

He didn’t look up, just gave lighting his cigarette another attempt.

“Grantaire.”

Enjolras was standing right next to him now. Grantaire looked down the street. There was no bus to save him from this.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said. Grantaire could almost hear the struggle in his voice.

He smirked and looked up at Enjolras. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever hear those words coming out of your mouth.”

Enjolras gave him a look that he probably usually reserved for corrupt governments that needed overthrowing. “Can you be serious for once?” Grantaire was about to say _no, absolutely not_ , but Enjolras wasn’t done yet. “I didn’t know you came to help out with the posters, I thought you’d just come around to-”

“To annoy the shit out of you?” Grantaire finished for him. “No, but maybe next time.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Enjolras’ face, Grantaire knew _that_ look well, even though he’d known Enjolras for less than a month. Once more, he tried to light his cigarette, cursing when there wasn’t even a spark.

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked at something behind Grantaire’s left ear. “Listen, if you still want to help, I’d be really grateful.”

“You haven’t even seen any of my stuff yet.”

“I’m sure it’s not too bad,” Enjolras mumbled, his lips twitching into a smile.

Grantaire smiled back at him, watched a raindrop land on his cheek, reached up and wiped it off without thinking. Enjolras stared at him for a very long moment, while Grantaire hoped the pavement beneath his feet would open up and swallow him whole. He’d blame that one on his sleep-deprivation.

He thrust his hands deep into his pockets to keep them from doing something else that was equally embarrassing.

“Just send me a text with what you want on the posters, like the time and date and whatever,” Grantaire said to fill the silence. Then he remembered the familiar face he’d seen in the Musain. One that he hadn’t expected to see there at all. “Also, was that Bahorel in there?”

“Right, I will. And yeah, that was Bahorel, he’s here for the second time today, I told him about the meetings when I met him at the Corinthe.” Enjolras sounded positively excited about the fact that he’d got one of Grantaire’s friends to join the Dark Side. Figuratively speaking, of course.

“Traitor,” Grantaire muttered and started playing with his cigarette since he didn’t have anything else to do and didn’t really want to stare at Enjolras either.

 “How long do you think it’ll take you to finish the posters?” Obviously they were back to business now. “I’m not sure if Jehan told you, but we’re a little short on time, because the guy who was supposed to make the posters bailed on us.”

“How about we meet up tomorrow evening and I’ll have at least a couple of things you can pick from, is that okay?”

“That’s great, thank you.”

He wouldn’t sleep all night. Again. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t mind at all. “No problem. I just want you to keep thanking me, it’s like a rare gift from the heavens.”

Enjolras was doing his you’re-not-funny face again, but luckily now Grantaire could already see his bus turn around the corner. “Well, that’s my bus, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t you want to come back inside?” Enjolras asked, pointing back at the Musain.

“Maybe some other time,” Grantaire said cheerfully, grinning at the pained face Enjolras was making. “I have a lot of work to do.”

On the bus ride home he started sketching, and just as predicted he didn’t sleep much the following night, which was why Jehan found him around noon, curled up at the end of his bed, next to all his failed attempts and the three posters he’d actually managed to finish. Grantaire grumbled something to express his gratitude when Jehan wrapped a blanket around him.

When he woke up again, he didn’t feel as rested as he would have liked, but at least he’d got some sleep, which was a big improvement.

“You’re still alive,” Jehan said happily when Grantaire staggered into the living room, still not fully awake.

“Hm.” It was really all he could manage. He sat down next to Jehan and closed his eyes again.

“Everything okay?” Jehan asked and hugged him to his chest.

“Hm,” Grantaire hummed.

“Thanks for helping Enjolras out,” Jehan said.

_Shit_. “What time is it?”

“Half five,” Jehan muttered and made a surprised noise when Grantaire jumped off the couch.

_Shit_. He’d either be late or he’d meet up with Enjolras looking like a hobo.

He convinced himself that he wouldn’t need a drink before he went to see Enjolras and made a run for the shower.

* * *

Enjolras tried very hard to ignore the looks Combeferre and Courfeyrac were shooting him, didn’t question Courfeyrac’s presence, because he spent half of his time in their flat anyway, but when they kept staring at him his curiosity got the better of him, so he flopped down between them on the sofa. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Combeferre said, his tone implying that obviously there was _something_ going on.

Courfeyrac giggled and patted his thigh. “You’re wearing skinny jeans.”

“Yes?” He was feeling mildly confused. His friends usually weren’t interesting in his clothing choices, or knew better than to comment.

“You’re meeting Grantaire and you’re wearing those jeans, you can’t blame me if I think you have some kind of hidden agenda.”

Enjolras only glared at him, hoping that would convey his exasperation efficiently enough.

“I mean, Enjolras, it might be good for you to do something other than work once in a while,” Courfeyrac continued, completely unfazed. “Grantaire, for example.”

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras hissed. It wasn’t like his brain hadn’t already provided him with that idea in his sleep, he really didn’t need his friend to remind him of that.

Courfeyrac smiled at him sweetly. “Yes, darling?”

“You’re in a disgustingly good mood, please stop.”

Courfeyrac started pouting and stuck out his lower lip. “’Ferre, Enjolras is being mean to me.”

“I’m not getting involved,” Combeferre muttered. He didn’t even look up from his book. Enjolras admired Combeferre for that particular quality, and for many others. It was him who knew when it was best to stay out of something, when it was better not to interfere, even when it was just something as trivial as childish bickering.

Enjolras sighed. “I better get going.” Actually, it was way too early to leave, but he had work to do and a café full of strangers was a much better working environment than his living room. At least no one would be sitting next to him babbling about his sex life.

He walked to the café instead of taking the bus, greeted the girl behind the counter as he entered, and got himself a vanilla latte.

“Working yourself towards a sugar-induced coma again?”

Enjolras looked up at the other barista who had appeared behind the counter. “Grantaire’s friend,” he said, trying to remember the girl’s name.

“Eponine,” she said and pushed his order over the counter. “Enjoy the cavities and the diabetes.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said. He saw why she was friends with Grantaire.

His mood lit up a little when he saw that his favourite table at the back of the café wasn’t occupied. Sitting there, he had a nice view of the whole café and the door.

He didn’t get much work done, kept checking the time, eyes wandering to the door, even though Grantaire hardly seemed like the kind of person who’d come to a meeting early. He almost expected him to cancel last minute when he got a text from him fifteen minutes before he was supposed to get here.

He only told him he’d be late, though, so Enjolras was only moderately pissed off. He turned his attention back to his laptop, but could hardly miss Grantaire stumbling through the door, apologising profusely when he bumped into an elderly woman who was just leaving, nearly knocking over a sign next to the door when he jumped out of her way.

His hair seemed to be a bit wet, his jeans had various stains on them, not all of them looking like paint, and he was wearing an old Rolling Stones shirt. Enjolras wondered about the wet hair for a second, since it wasn’t raining, then Grantaire spotted him at his table in the back.

Grantaire waved at him and pointed at the battered briefcase he was carrying. A few grimaces thrown Enjolras’ way and a talk with Eponine later, Grantaire was finally striding towards him, balancing his briefcase, a cup of coffee and a panini.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t really sleep all night, so I ended up sleeping all day and now I’m starving and I also have a shift at the Corinthe to get to, so here you go,” he babbled and handed Enjolras his artwork. “It’s okay if you don’t like them, just tell me, I can take it,” he added, running his hand through his hair nervously.

Enjolras nodded and watched with amusement as Grantaire started devouring his food. He almost knocked over his cup when he looked at the posters Grantaire had made for him.

“Enjolras?” Only the sound of Grantaire’s voice made him realise that his mouth was hanging open.

“These are perfect.” They weren’t just hastily put together, this was proper art. Grantaire had drawn characters from children’s films, advertising the charity event at the hospital, there was Simba with a sign around his neck, Snow White surrounded by forest animals, two birds holding up a banner, he’d even made one with the Aristocats.

“You like them?” The disbelief in his voice was a bit of a shock to Enjolras. Surely he must know that his art was beyond amazing? “I mean, I thought you’d think they’re not appropriate or something, but then I thought, well, it’s for a children’s hospital, right? And everyone loves Disney films, so...,” he trailed off and took a huge bit of his panini.

“They’re great. Actually, I’m a bit scared that people might steal them.”

The way Grantaire was blushing was almost adorable. He ducked his head and started fiddling with a napkin. “They’re not that good.”

“They really are,” Enjolras protested, “I’m sorry you didn’t get any sleep.”

“Honestly, sleep isn’t my biggest priority anyway.” Grantaire gulped down the rest of his coffee. “Coffee is my saviour.”

Enjolras glanced at Grantaire’s empty cup. “Do you want another one? I‘ll pay”

“Sure, thanks, just regular coffee, no milk, no sugar or any of that crap.”

“You have your coffee black?” People who had their coffee black were suspicious to Enjolras, because he didn’t like coffee all that much, so he always made sure to obscure the taste of it as much as he possibly could whenever he had any.

“Yeah, it matches the colour of my soul.”

“Cheerful,” Enjolras muttered and went to get their coffees.

* * *

Grantaire watched him walk away, trying not to pay too much attention to those god-awful skinny jeans, god-awful because they made Grantaire’s brain short-circuit in a way he didn’t like at all.

He rummaged in his bag to find a pen and started doodling on a napkin to distract himself. It wasn’t only Enjolras’ jeans that were so distracting, it was every damn thing about him, the way he talked and the way he tried not to smile at Grantaire’s jokes and the way he’d praised his art, which Grantaire would probably never wrap his head around.

Enjolras set down a cup next to him, together with on for himself. Grantaire could feel him looming over his shoulder. “Oh my god, it’s...”

“It’s you... as the Statue of Liberty, sorry, this got away from me a bit.” He turned around to look at Enjolras, who was staring down at his doodle, wide-eyed, surprise written plainly all over his face. “Sorry, I thought it was funny,” he mumbled and crumpled the napkin.

“No, don’t do that,” Enjolras said and plucked it from his fingers. He sat down in his chair again and tried to smooth it out.

“Everything okay?” Grantaire grinned at Enjolras, who suddenly looked a little shaken. “Did Eponine hit on you? It’s okay, I’m sure she didn’t mean it, you’re not her type.”

“How relieving,” Enjolras said with a roll of his eyes. “You should do this more often,” he added, fingers tapping on the crumpled napkin.

“What? Draw on napkins? I actually do that all the time,” Grantaire told him.

Enjolras looked at him for a second, his expression unreadable. “That’s not what I meant,” he said eventually. “I meant... make posters. Not just for us, but for other people. People who can actually pay you for your work. You’re really talented.”

Grantaire frowned. “It’s fine, really, don’t... don’t do that.” He didn’t want Enjolras to praise his work, just because Grantaire had done this for them, for him, for free, especially because Grantaire knew his posters weren’t as great as Enjolras said they were.

“Do what?” It looked like Enjolras was trying to out-frown him.

Grantaire took a deep breath. “I... that thing... listen, it’s no big deal, okay?” He stood up, not entirely sure if he was still in control of his legs, and pulled on his jacket. “Thanks for the coffee, I have a job to get to, so... um, have fun with those,” he said, pointing at the posters.

Grantaire lit a cigarette as soon as he’d made it outside.

Dealing with Enjolras had proven to be exactly as exhausting as he’d thought it would be. At least he’d be early for work, so he might be able to sneak in a drink or two before they opened. He was sure Bahorel wouldn’t mind.

Hell, Bahorel might actually drink with him.

* * *

Enjolras was still staring at the door long after Grantaire had disappeared. If anyone were to sit down next to him, he wouldn’t be able to utter a single word. Maybe he was in shock.

It was just now that he realised that he hadn’t even said thank you. Grantaire had left so suddenly, and Enjolras still wasn’t even sure what he’d done wrong. He’d have to figure that out at some point, but right now he had a much bigger problem.

He hadn’t noticed when Grantaire had handed him the posters, those fantastic posters that he wanted to put up on his wall rather than around town, but when he’d seen the little picture Grantaire had drawn on his napkin, he’d realised that he’d found them. That the person he’d been, well, not actually been looking for, but whose drawings he’d been collecting, was Grantaire.

Enjolras nearly forgot his laptop when he left, missed his stop on the bus ride home and completely ignored Combeferre when he walked into their flat. He wordlessly dropped the posters on the table in front of Combeferre and walked straight to his room, where he pulled out the old shoebox from under his bed.

They were definitely Grantaire’s. All of them, as far as he could tell. He sighed.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre strode into his room, taking in the mess he’d made without a comment. He held up the posters. “These are amazing.”

Enjolras nodded and started picking up the little pieces of paper scattered all over his bed.

“Why are they napkins on your bed?” Combeferre asked as if it was the most normal question in the world.

“I’ve been collecting these,” Enjolras said, holding up one of them. “I kept finding them all over town and at uni,” he explained as he stuffed them all back into the box. “Until today I didn’t know who’d made them.”

“Grantaire?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras nodded. “Grantaire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments about pizza toppings last week, I enjoyed them a lot.


	6. Chapter 6

“We’re going to have so much fun,” Courfeyrac screeched when he opened the door for Enjolras, which was at about the same time when Enjolras realised that this whole endeavour was a horrible mistake.

When he’d agreed to this, he hadn’t actually been aware of what exactly he was agreeing to, since he’d spent the last few days in state of distraction. When he’d realised that Courfeyrac wanted to go see _the best DJ this world has ever seen_ , he’d tried to back out, but Courfeyrac had whipped out his puppy face and Enjolras had given in eventually.

 Anyway, everyone else had promised to come and he hadn’t been spending enough time with his friends, because he’d been swamped with work, so maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad.

Jehan appeared behind Courfeyrac. “Where’s ‘Ferre?”

“He’s not feeling well, he might join us later,” Enjolras explained. Combeferre, the traitor, had thought of faking an illness before him.

“What?” Courfeyrac whined. “He’s not coming either?”

“What do you mean, _either_?” Enjolras was starting to have a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t in the mood for Courfeyrac’s questionable taste in music.

Jehan smiled at him a little too sweetly. “Well, looks like it’s just going to be the three of us.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go,” Enjolras suggested hopefully.

“No, we’re going,” Courfeyrac insisted and hooked his arm through Enjolras’. “Come on,” he said to Jehan and took him by the arm as well. They staggered down the stairs, Courfeyrac refusing to let go of either of them.

“How much further is it?” Enjolras asked after listening to Jehan and Courfeyrac talking about some poetry reading Jehan had gone to for the entirety of their walk.

“It’s just around the corner actually,” Courfeyrac said.

“You’ve been there before,” Jehan chipped in, “it’s at the Corinthe.”

“The Corinthe,” Enjolras echoed. “Where Grantaire works.”

“Yes, that’s the Corinthe we’re talking about.”

Jehan looked over at him, frowning. “You and Grantaire are getting along, right? I know, he’s a little grumpy sometimes, but he’s a really great guy, actually.”

“Yeah, sure,” Enjolras said, but apparently didn’t sound convincing at all, because both Courfeyrac and Jehan shot him questioning looks. They probably still hadn’t forgotten that he’d snapped at Grantaire in front of everyone at the Musain less than a week ago. He sighed. “Really, I apologised and he made the posters, we don’t hate each other, everything’s good.”

“You’re not convincing,” Jehan said, eyes narrowed.

“Which is unsettling, given how convincing you usually are,” Courfeyrac added.

Enjolras glared at the both of them, but briefly considered asking Jehan whether Grantaire had said anything about their meeting the other day. He still wanted to know why Grantaire had taken off so abruptly, but it probably wasn’t the best idea to get their friends involved.

It was strange to see a small crowd gathered outside the pub. There was a stage with the DJ booth set up, the tables in the middle of the pub had been cleared away, so there was space for people to dance. Enjolras was sincerely hoping that no one would try to drag him onto that dancefloor.

It seemed that Grantaire wasn’t even working tonight, he could only spot Bahorel behind the bar, waving at them when he saw them arrive. He was definitely not disappointed that Grantaire wasn’t there, not at all.

The DJ, as it turned out, was actually the worst the world had ever seen. Courfeyrac seemed to enjoy himself, though, and even though Jehan didn’t seem to be exactly enthusiastic, he kept a smile on his face while his hand was slowly sneaking up Courfeyrac’s back.

Courfeyrac and Jehan didn’t even notice when he made a slow retreat towards the bar, his heart speeding up just the slightest bit when he spotted Grantaire, juggling shot glasses for a group of applauding girls, watching him completely in awe. Grantaire caught them, one after another, set them down and poured the girls’ drinks. They left, still giggling, and Enjolras took their place at the bar.

“The things I do for tips,” Grantaire said, smiling nervously. “What can I get you?”

“Coke, please.” Enjolras picked up a napkin one of the girls left behind. A phone number was scrawled on it. He grinned and pushed it over to Grantaire. “Looks like you’re popular.”

“Oh, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, batting his eyelashes, “I already have your number.”

Enjolras threw the napkin at him. God, he was hoping that he wasn’t blushing, although his face felt dangerously hot.

“Anyway,” Grantaire continued and handed him his drink, “I didn’t know you were into DJ Satan or whatever his name is.”

“You don’t sound like a big fan either,” Enjolras mused.

“Oh, whatever gave you that idea?” Grantaire said with a roll of his eyes. “The owner thought it would be a good idea, because apparently that guy is so _cool_ and _edgy_.”

Enjolras was about to answer when Bahorel showed up next to Grantaire and pulled him into a death grip. “I know this might be news to you,” he said with a grin, “but Enjolras is not the only person who wants a drink.” Bahorel nodded at Enjolras and gave Grantaire a pat on the back, then he walked back to the other end of the bar.

“Right... work,” Grantaire said, more to himself than to Enjolras. “I’ll be back.”

Grantaire was back about half an hour later. Enjolras had read the news on his phone, sent a couple of texts to Combeferre and answered all of his emails in the meantime. Grantaire snatched the phone out of his hand, shaking his head. “Enjolras, you need to learn how to spend time without your phone.” He gave it back and smiled when Enjolras put it back into his pocket. “Look around, there are drunk people, those are always very entertaining, and the DJ is doing his best to look like a massive douchebag, that’s worth looking at, and hey, Courf and Jehan are snogging, how about that.”

“They are?” Enjolras asked, turning around to follow Grantaire’s gaze. They were exactly where Enjolras had left them, only now they were attached by the lips. He’d got an entirely too detailed description of their first kiss the day after they’d all spent the night at Grantaire and Jehan’s place and he was afraid that he’d be in for part two tomorrow.

“Ah, young love, aren’t they adorable?” Grantaire said from behind him, but didn’t wait for Enjolras to answer. “I’m taking a cigarette break, you coming?”

Enjolras watched Grantaire pick up a pack of cigarettes and walk around the bar. “I don’t smoke,” he said when Grantaire looked at him expectantly.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t come.”

Enjolras followed him outside, past Courfeyrac and Jehan, who were completely oblivious to anything that happened around them. Grantaire lit a cigarette, which shouldn’t look as good as it did, most definitely not, so Enjolras chose to stare at his shoes instead of Grantaire.

He could just tell him about the drawings now, he thought, because the longer he waited the weirder this whole thing would get, he’d just say it and Grantaire would be cool with it, Grantaire wouldn’t think he was some creeper, Grantaire would –

“Grantaire,” someone drawled, “you haven’t seen my girl by any chance, have you?” A guy walked up to them, looking too well dressed to frequent pubs like the Corinthe.

Grantaire straightened up visibly, flicked his cigarette to the ground and took a step towards Enjolras. “She’s not here. Why don’t you just leave her alone like she asked you to? Have you considered that possibility? It would make things easier for all of us.”

“Oh look at little Grantaire, all protective,” the guy said and turned to look at Enjolras, eyeing him from head to toe. “Who’s this?”

Enjolras took a step back. He didn’t know that guy, didn’t like him at all, and the way Grantaire was glaring at him made him feel more than a little uneasy.

“Just leave, man,” Grantaire said, slowly making his way in front of Enjolras. He was about to say that he really didn’t need Grantaire to protect him, but now probably wasn’t the best time to mention that he wasn’t entirely incapable of defending himself.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Maybe I’ll break your nose again, how does that sound?” Enjolras didn’t like the sound of this, not at all, even though Grantaire didn’t seem like he hit people on the nose just for the fun of it. But that guy definitely looked like he was looking for a fight and Enjolras didn’t feel like scraping Grantaire off the pavement when he was done with him.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras cut in, “let’s go back inside.” Enjolras’ fingers closed around Grantaire’s wrist almost automatically when he didn’t move, tugging him back towards the pub and through the door.

“Who was that guy?” Enjolras asked once they were back inside.

“Eponine’s ex, his name’s Montparnasse.” Grantaire looked back over his shoulder to see if he’d followed them inside. “He’s an ass, but I guess you noticed that.” Grantaire patted Jehan on the back on his way back to the bar, then poured himself a drink. “Every time I see him I get an urge to punch him in the face.”

“Understandable,” Enjolras said, frowning when Grantaire downed his drink.

Grantaire nodded and went to exchange a few words with Bahorel, whose expression went from pissed off to exasperated and then back to pissed off again within seconds. When Grantaire came back to him, he was joking around again, telling him that Bahorel would check if Montparnasse had ‘fucked off’, then left Enjolras to juggle some oranges before he made cocktails for some girls.

After the DJ had stopped playing the pub emptied pretty quickly and Jehan came up to the bar, beaming at Grantaire. “I’m going home with Courfeyrac.”

“I figured,” Grantaire said and pinched Jehan’s cheek, which had Jehan beaming even wider.

“I’ll see you around,” Jehan said and almost flew back to Courfeyrac, who waved at them before they took off.

Grantaire grinned and turned to a girl who ordered some kind of obscure cocktail that Grantaire put together without batting an eye. She looked around the emptying pub and picked up a napkin. “Would you?” she asked Grantaire, basically tearing his clothes off with her eyes.

“Sure, any requests?” He took the napkin and produced a pen from behind the bar. She shook her head and he started doodling what looked like a Care Bear. Enjolras watched some other girls and a guy appear, all asking for drawings, and Grantaire complied happily.

It was getting late and Enjolras was getting tired, and maybe he should have gone home with Courfeyrac and Jehan, but he hadn’t felt like leaving just yet and still wasn’t feeling like going home right now.

“Tips,” was all Grantaire said when he finally came back to Enjolras. “Do you want one, too?” he asked and waved around a napkin in front of Enjolras’ face. “You could have one for free.”

“If you’re not busy.” And of course Grantaire wasn’t busy, there were only a few people still lingering at the bar, all of them finishing their drinks, the dancefloor was deserted.

“I’m so glad they’re going to Courfeyrac’s,” Grantaire said as he drew on the napkin. “I was scared I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. Jehan’s going to be unbearable for at least a month.”

Enjolras laughed. “Tell me about it. Since Marius started going out with Cosette, Courfeyrac has basically been living in my flat and he’s _already_ unbearable.”

“At least he’s not reading love poems to you.”

“And hopefully he won’t start,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire smiled and pushed the napkin over to Enjolras. “There you go.”

“Eeyore?”

“He speaks to me on spiritual level,” Grantaire said and started collecting empty glasses up and down the bar, chatting away happily.

“Everyone loved your posters, by the way,” Enjolras told him. He could tell him about the shoebox now, he had Grantaire’s attention, no one else was here to listen to them. He sighed. Maybe some other time.

Grantaire smiled at his comment, but that was it.

“I should probably head home.” Enjolras slid off his barstool and put a fiver in the place of his napkin.

“Hey, I told you that was free,” Grantaire called from the other end of the bar and came walking back over to him. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

“No thanks, it’s not like I’m drunk or anything.”

Grantaire nodded and went back to cleaning up. On his way out he said goodbye to Bahorel, who was wiping tables and putting up chairs, and took a cab home.

When Enjolras fell into bed not too much later, he thought that maybe he should have accepted Grantaire’s offer.

* * *

“You should come,” Jehan said for about the tenth time.

“No.” Grantaire hid his face in a pillow, but Jehan didn’t let off.

“I know you want to see him.” Jehan sat down on Grantaire’s bed and took the pillow away from him, looking down at him knowingly.

Jehan did have a point, he wanted to see Enjolras, but he remembered all too well how Enjolras had reacted when Grantaire had shown up at one of their meetings at the Musain. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

“And what makes you think that?” Jehan grinned at him and let himself fall back onto the mattress. “He didn’t seem to mind your company last weekend.”

“That’s because you and Courf ignored him completely, there was no one else he could have talked to.”

“Yeah, we had other things on our minds,” Jehan said, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“We could see that.” Grantaire sat up and grabbed his sketchbook. He’d spent ages looking for it until he’d found it under the sofa a couple of days ago. Only then he’d remembered that he’d shoved it under there when Enjolras had picked it up.

“Courf is picking me up so we can walk to the Musain together,” Jehan said, watching him as he started drawing. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes, so you better hurry up with that.”

Grantaire hummed and continued. “Have you figured out the _Courfeyrac doesn’t do relationships_ problem yet?”

“Not really,” Jehan mumbled, “but he offered to pick me up, so I guess he’s not trying to get rid of me.”

“Lucky you,” Grantaire said and slammed his sketchbook shut when the doorbell rang.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He pushed Jehan off his bed and heard him greet Courfeyrac enthusiastically when he opened the door.

Once they were gone, Grantaire reopened his sketchbook and tried to draw Enjolras. He’d tried before, but he couldn’t quite get him right, it always seemed like there was something missing, like he couldn’t really capture him. It was all just silly doodles, like the one he’d given to Enjolras at the café. It was frustrating as hell.

He got himself a bottle of wine, one of the ones Courfeyrac had brought over on the day the pizza catastrophe had happened. That was how Jehan found him when he came back, with his bottle, cursing at his sketchbook.

“He asked how you were doing,” Jehan said, a menacingly sweet smile on his face.

“Who?” Grantaire asked, pretending he didn’t care, pretending he didn’t know, pretending Jehan didn’t know. He didn’t exactly succeed.

Jehan snorted. “You should come next week.”

“So he can yell at me again?” Grantaire grumbled.

“He won’t yell at you, don’t be ridiculous.” With that he disappeared.

Grantaire could hear him rummaging in the kitchen and five minutes later Jehan returned with two cups of tea. He sat down next to him, took a peek at his drawing and wordlessly handed him one of the cups.

Jehan made it through another cup of tea, scrawled one poem on Grantaire’s arm and one into his sketchbook, and was now fast asleep, drooling onto Grantaire’s favourite pillow.

“You should come,” Jehan said, exactly one week later.

Grantaire was lying on the sofa, shaking his head. “I’m too comfortable here.”

“You’re a lazy little shit.” Jehan dropped a jacket on Grantaire, closely followed by a pair of shoes. “Come on, we’re only going to talk about the charity thing at the hospital, you can sit in a corner and look all broody and later we can go out for drinks.”

“I’m going to regret this so much,” Grantaire muttered as he sat up. “If he yells at me you have to buy me drinks all night.”

“I will,” Jehan promised and tossed a beanie at his head. “But he’s not going to anyway.”

* * *

Enjolras was tapping his foot restlessly whilst listening to what Bossuet and Joly were saying about the social housing project. It didn’t look good at all.

“I talked to a few of the council members,” Bossuet said, “they all told me the money is needed elsewhere.”

“Oh really, what do they need it for, a new parking garage?” Enjolras asked.

“Apparently they’re just putting it on hold, but we all know what that means,” Joly told him.

“I’ll talk to the council members, I’m pretty sure some of them can be swayed,” Enjolras mused.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Grantaire flopped down in the chair next to him. “They’re all corrupt, they don’t give a shit, there’s no money in it for them.”

“Grantaire, optimistic as always,” Enjolras said and bestowed him with a scornful look. Some part of him, however, was happy to see him. He’d meant to call him a couple of times, because the people at the children’s hospital had been delighted when they’d seen his posters and he’d wanted to tell him, but going by the way he’d reacted when Enjolras had mentioned his art, it hadn’t seem like the greatest idea after all.

 “Someone has to keep you down to earth.” Grantaire grinned and pulled his beanie off his head, freeing his wild mop of hair that Enjolras wanted to sink his fingers into. He took a deep breath. “Anyway,” Grantaire continued, “I doubt you’re popular with the city council.”

Well, he definitely was right about that. Enjolras had organised too many protests, had been too much of a nuisance, but Grantaire didn’t need to know that. If he admitted that Grantaire was right, he’d never hear the end of it. Anyway, he should probably send Combeferre to talk to the council.

“Can we start?” Enjolras asked, looking around the room. Combeferre had arrived with him, so had Courfeyrac, who was now caught up in a conversation with Jehan, Bossuet and Joly were both looking at him expectantly.

It didn’t take too long to figure out who’d be doing what, Jehan and Courfeyrac agreed to keep the kids entertained, Joly and Bossuet would come to help set up, Combeferre was going to help out at the buffet.

“Has anyone heard from Bahorel, because I think we could use someone to help with the bar.”

“He’s out of town next weekend,” Grantaire said. He’d been suspiciously quiet, but at least he had something helpful to say now. “But I could do it.”

Enjolras thought he’d misheard for a second. “You?”

“Yes, me,” Grantaire confirmed. He looked completely serious, there was no mocking smile, nothing to indicate that he was actually making fun of Enjolras.  

“Well, I suppose you know how to do... bar things,” Enjolras said, pretending he didn’t hear Courfeyrac’s giggling or Combeferre’s coughing.

Grantaire grinned. “I do.”

“That’s settled then,” Enjolras muttered and looked at Courfeyrac. “What about Marius?”

Courfeyrac, who seemed to be distracted, because he was playing with Jehan’s hair, looked up. “Why are you looking at me? I’m Courfeyrac.”

“I’m aware,” Enjolras said, “but I figured you would know.”

“Oh, right. To be honest, I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“Great,” Enjolras mumbled. “Well, if anything else comes up, I’ll let you know, but I think we’re all set.”

Enjolras ended up between Grantaire and Courfeyrac, who were loudly discussing the DJ from hell over his head, and for once Enjolras felt himself siding with Grantaire, while Jehan kept quiet. Enjolras was pretty sure he knew the reason why. Joly and Bossuet left a bit later because they wanted to pick up Musichetta, whose shift at the restaurant was ending soon.

Enjolras had just started filling Combeferre in on the social housing situation, when Grantaire piped up again. “You know that not even Combeferre will be able to change their minds, right?”

“What makes you think so?” He was trying to be patient, was trying to understand why Grantaire would accept defeat so easily, why he wouldn’t fight. It was frustrating to him, just as frustrating as the fact that Grantaire left his art lying around abandoned as if it was nothing and it made Enjolras wonder why Grantaire thought so little of it.

“As I said, there’s nothing in it for them. Unless you find a way to make it more profitable than whatever else they’re using the money for, you’re fighting for a lost cause.”

“So what do you think we should do? Just let it go?” Enjolras noticed Combeferre shifting in his chair when Enjolras voice grew louder.

Grantaire only shrugged and emptied his beer. “Accept the reality of the situation, Enjolras, there are some things you just can’t change.”

“At least we try,” Enjolras snapped, “That’s more than I can say for you.”

Grantaire smiled at him coolly and was just about to open his mouth when Jehan reached over Courfeyrac to put his hand on Grantaire’s arm. “How about you postpone that discussion, I think I owe you a drink.”

Grantaire barked out a laugh at that, tipped an invisible hat to Enjolras and slowly rose from his chair. “Until next time,” Grantaire said with a wink.

He saw Jehan kiss Courfeyrac goodbye out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on Grantaire, who was looking all too smug.

“He doesn’t even take our discussions seriously,” Enjolras hissed once they were gone.

Courfeyrac laughed. “Is it just me, or do you lose your patience a lot quicker with him than with other people?”

“Well, he is infuriating,” Enjolras said defensively, not mentioning that he’d had the exact same thought as well. There was something about Grantaire that made him forget that patience was a thing that existed.

“Maybe you should try not to give him as much incentive,” Combeferre said, a smile playing around his lips that Enjolras didn’t quite understand.

Enjolras ignored that comment entirely and huffed. “Why did he even come, why is he helping with the charity if he basically tells me that he doesn’t give a shit only five minutes later?”

He missed the look Combeferre threw Courfeyrac, but he didn’t miss Courfeyrac’s snort. Enjolras proceeded to shoot them both dark looks and zoned out somewhat when Courfeyrac started rattling off ideas for a date with Jehan.

Combeferre was listening like he was talking about some plan to assure world peace, while Enjolras’ thoughts lingered with Grantaire. It was strange how they sometimes got along, it seemed that all it took was to keep their opinions to themselves, but Enjolras wasn’t one not to voice his displeasure, and neither was Grantaire.

He could only hope that they wouldn’t find something to argue about on Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never meant for this fic to get so long, but they barely knew each other at the beginning and I don't just want to throw them into a relationship.  
> Anyway, you guys seem to like it, so I guess I'm doing okay.


	7. Chapter 7

Jehan was tapping his foot restlessly. “We’re going to be late.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Grantaire yanked off his paint-stained shirt and threw it at Jehan, who yelped and jumped out of the way. “I told you to wake me up early enough.”

“You weren’t even sleeping,” Jehan protested and dived out of the way when Grantaire started aiming his socks at him.

“But I was painting, you know that I don’t pay attention to what time it is when I’m painting.” Grantaire stumbled out of his room and towards the bathroom. “Pick clothes for me.”

Jehan made a way too enthusiastic noise.

“Make sure the colours don’t clash,” Grantaire added and slammed the bathroom door shut. He shucked off the rest of his clothes and jumped into the shower.

Five minutes later the bathroom door opened, Jehan waltzed in and sat down on the bath rug right in front of the shower. “I even picked socks for you,” he said happily.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on, because there is no way my socks made you this happy,” Grantaire said. He could see Jehan shift through the milk glass. 

“Courfeyrac asked me out last night,” Jehan squealed.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t you guys been dating for weeks?”

“Not exactly,” Jehan told him, while Grantaire was trying to get the paint out of his hair. “I mean, not officially.”

Grantaire could actually hear the smile in his voice. Part of him was happy for his friend, another part wanted him to stop sticking sappy poems to the fridge. He’d liked the old ones better, some of those had been downright depressing, he’d loved them. “That’s wonderful, and I hope you’ll eat nice food and have great sex at _not our flat_.”

They’d come crashing into the flat in the middle of the night and Grantaire had spent half an hour searching for his earplugs, had eventually given up and had ended up painting to the sound of Metallica until four in the morning.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” At least Jehan sounded like he was genuinely sorry. “I’ll get you new earplugs for Christmas.”

“Thanks a lot,” Grantaire mumbled. “You need to move.”

Jehan scooted over obediently. Grantaire remembered the first time he’d followed him into the bathroom, talking about some guy he’d gone home with. Apparently his girlfriend had caught them making out in the kitchen and Jehan had had to make a quick escape through the window. Grantaire had realised very quickly that this was just the way Jehan was and that he’d better get used to it instead of trying to throw him out of the bathroom.

“What about you and Enjolras,” Jehan asked, his tone entirely too innocent.

“Nope,” Grantaire mumbled as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, “we’re not talking about that.”

“You like him,” Jehan said. “Don’t you?” he added when Grantaire kept his mouth shut.

“He doesn’t like me, end of story,” Grantaire said and walked out of the bathroom before Jehan could say another word.

He started pulling on the clothes Jehan had picked out, socks that definitely didn’t belong to him because they had flowers on them and a shirt that had migrated from his possession to Jehan’s a long time ago. He turned to look at Jehan, who was leaning in the doorway. “Are you giving this back?”

“Only temporarily.” Jehan smiled and sat down on the bed. “How do you like the socks?”

“It’s the most beautiful pair of socks I’ve ever had the pleasure wearing,” he said dramatically, which earned him a smack on his shoulder.

“But seriously,” Jehan said, “about Enjolras-”

“Please don’t,” Grantaire interrupted. He didn’t want to talk about him, not ever, he wanted to suffer in silence and he didn’t actually want to admit to someone else that he had feelings for Enjolras, of all people.

His resigned tone made Jehan’s face fall. “I’m sorry, ‘Aire, I just want you to be happy,” he muttered and pulled him into a very bony hug.

“You feel like a skeleton, doesn’t Courfeyrac feed you?”

“Maybe you should cook for me tonight,” Jehan mumbled into his shirt.

“Only if Enjolras doesn’t kill us because we’re late,” Grantaire said and let Jehan pull him to his feet.

They made a valiant effort to get there on time and immediately encountered a very stressed Enjolras, red-faced and with messy hair, pointing and gesticulating, and ushering people around.

“I didn’t realise you were in charge,” Grantaire greeted him.  He’d thought they were only here to help out.

“I’m not,” Enjolras grumbled, “but the person who is in charge is stuck in traffic and now I’m trying to get everything ready, Jehan can you go help Courfeyrac, he’s in the room over there.” Enjolras waved him into the right direction and turned to Grantaire. “I think the bar and the buffet are set up, but you can ask Combeferre if they need help with anything.” The fact that Enjolras didn’t even mention that they were late was slightly worrying.

“Sure,” Grantaire said and looked around the small hall. It looked like everything was ready, tables and chairs were set up, there was a small podium at the end of the hall, and still, Enjolras looked like he was standing in the middle of an empty hall and nothing was done. “Everything’s fine, Enjolras,” he said, thinking he should at least make an attempt at calming him down.

“We don’t have enough chairs, the organiser isn’t here and people keep asking me questions I can’t answer, nothing is fine.” Enjolras tugged his fingers through his hair, sending loose strands tumbling about his face. He actually looked somewhat panicked. “Oh, and Marius can’t make it because he has the flu and Cosette has to take care of him.”

Grantaire bit his lip. “Listen, the guy’s probably going to get here in a bit, the amount of chairs looks fine to me, and I bet we can do this without Marius, you’re doing great.” He patted Enjolras on the arm for emphasis. “Don’t forget to breathe, by the way, breathing is important, it keeps you alive and stuff.”

Enjolras looked like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to yell at him because now was not the time for joking around. He settled on “Thanks, Grantaire,” and then sent him on his way. “Don’t tell Joly that Marius is sick,” he called after him.

“Is Enjolras okay?” Combeferre asked when Grantaire joined him at the buffet.

“I’m not sure,” Grantaire said truthfully, “He seemed stressed, but I guess he’ll be fine. I mean, he’s Enjolras.”

Combeferre huffed out a laugh and then introduced Grantaire to a couple of nurses who’d volunteered to help out. Grantaire inspected the buffet with all the little cakes and snacks and looked at Combeferre. “How are we not going to eat all of this food before this thing even starts?”

“Self-restraint,” Combeferre said, “I’ve been carrying cakes for half an hour and I’m starving.”

“It’s a hard life,” Grantaire mumbled and wondered if Enjolras would murder him if he poured himself some wine.

Enjolras joined them fifteen minutes later, visibly relaxed because the person in charge had finally arrived. “Jehan is making balloon swords,” he said matter-of-factly.

“He’s a man of many talents,” Grantaire said, almost fondly. “But seriously, why are these people even bringing their children, this is a charity event.”

“This is also a _children’s hospital_ ,” Enjolras said very slowly. “And a lot of the donations come from people who have or had sick kids.” He was starting to sound pissed off again, like he didn’t have time for Grantaire’s stupid questions.

Grantaire smirked. “Forgive my ignorance.”

“If you’re just going to make stupid comments all day, you might as well go home.” Enjolras took a step towards him, a challenging look on his face.

“Calm down,” Grantaire said, suddenly serious. “You look like you need a drink.”

“Is drinking all you ever think about?” Enjolras inquired. He took yet another step towards him, towering above him, glaring.

All Grantaire could think about, however, was how easy it would be to reach up to pull Enjolras down to kiss him. He’d have to stand on his tiptoes, because Enjolras was considerably taller than him. Grantaire shook his head slightly before his brain could start up on an interior monologue about the colour of Enjolras’ eyes that were boring into his. “I occasionally think about other things,” he said quietly.

Enjolras sighed and turned to Combeferre. “I’ll check if there’s anything left to do, tell me when Joly and Bossuet come back.”

“Sometimes I think he doesn’t actually hate my guts, but in moments like this I’m reminded of the harsh reality,” Grantaire said. He’d meant to say it jokingly but it came out somewhat bitter. He pushed around a stack of cocktail napkins on the makeshift bar. “Where are Joly and Bossuet?” he asked Combeferre before he could say anything that he thought would make Grantaire feel better.

“Getting more wine glasses,” Combeferre said and shifted around a couple of cakes to make space for another that a nurse had just brought to their table. “Bossuet broke a whole box of them when they were carrying them inside,” he explained.

“No wonder Enjolras is so stressed,” Grantaire muttered.

People started filing in soon and Grantaire was very much distracted when he had to start pouring wine for rich men in suits and women in fancy dresses and handing out juice boxes to kids. Joly and Bossuet even brought him his sorely needed wine glasses.

Speeches were made, Enjolras showed up again, this time wearing a balloon hat and Grantaire watched people walk by with food, wishing he could have some, too. One of the nurses snuck him half a muffin when she heard his stomach grumble.

* * *

Enjolras found his friends sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall of the now empty hall. Joly was playing with one of the balloon animals Jehan had made, Bossuet, Grantaire and Combeferre were sharing a leftover piece of cake, Courfeyrac was fast asleep and slumped against Jehan, who was carefully carding his fingers through his hair.

“Everything done?” Combeferre asked him and handed the cake back to Grantaire.

Enjolras nodded and longingly stared at the cake, trying to remember when he’d last eaten something. “Thank you all for your help,” Enjolras said and jumped when Bossuet popped the balloon he’d snatched from Joly.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” Bossuet said and stared at the leftovers of the balloon in his hand with a miserable expression.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Joly mumbled and kissed him on the cheek.

Courfeyrac stared at him accusingly, because he’d woken him up.  “Yeah, don’t worry, I just nearly had a heart attack.”

“Ahhh, poor little boy,” Grantaire cooed and ruffled Courfeyrac’s hair.

Enjolras smiled down at his friends. “Let’s go home.”

“Oh yeah, someone promised to make me dinner,” Jehan said happily. “Not you,” he added when Courfeyrac shot him a terrified glance.

“I didn’t promise anything,” Grantaire said gruffly.

“You’re making dinner?” Joly asked hopefully.

“’Chetta is out with some of her old school friends tonight,” Bossuet explained, “She’d love you forever if you cooked for us.”

“We’d love you forever as well,” Courfeyrac piped up. “All of us.”

“No.” Grantaire shook his hand. “I remember the last time I cooked for all of you, I’m still traumatised.”

“Please, Grantaire,” Joly said, giving him his brightest smile, “I won’t even complain about how dirty your kitchen is.”

“Please,” Courfeyrac whispered, “I’m so hungry and I don’t have any food at home.”

“God, you’re annoying,” Grantaire muttered.

“Maybe we should go to our place,” Combeferre suggested, looking up at Enjolras, quietly asking for permission.

Enjolras shrugged. He was pretty much ready to fall asleep right where he stood, but his friends looked exhausted as well, so they probably wouldn’t stick around for too long.

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” Grantaire said and held up the rest of the cake. “Want some?”

“I do.” Courfeyrac snatched the plate from him.

“Have you all been using the same fork?”

Enjolras used the moment’s distraction to take the cake from Courfeyrac. “Let’s go.”

They took the bus back to their place, Joly keeping them and the rest of the bus entertained with some medical jokes that always went unfinished, because Joly burst out laughing before he could get to the punchline.

He watched as Bossuet and Courfeyrac instantly went to inspect their DVD collection, while Joly whispered something to Jehan, probably one of his dirtier jokes, going by the way Jehan was giggling and blushing. Grantaire followed Combeferre into the kitchen, looking around curiously as they went, letting out a low whistle when his eyes fell on their TV.

Enjolras had almost forgotten that Grantaire had never been here before and was already expecting him to made some snide remark, but he was too busy planning their dinner with Combeferre. His eyes followed them until they’d vanished through the kitchen door, feeling strangely lost. He was so used to arguing with Grantaire, or at least talking to him, at any given time they were in the same place, he almost wanted to follow them.

He looked at his friends, who were arguing about which Tarantino film to watch, and eventually walked into the kitchen as well.

Grantaire was in front of the fridge, randomly pulling out food as it seemed, Courfeyrac was sifting through their cupboards.

“What’s for dinner?” Enjolras asked and leant against their small kitchen table.

“Pasta,” Combeferre said and pushed a box of spaghetti on the counter. “And sandwiches,” he added, pointing at the stuff Grantaire had taken out of the fridge.

“Courf, are you sure you don’t have any food at your place?” Grantaire called and then turned to look at Enjolras. “Why don’t you have frozen pizza or something like that?”

“I’ll go check,” Courfeyrac yelled back from the living room.

Grantaire seemed to be satisfied and didn’t press Enjolras for an answer to the frozen pizza question, although he was still peering into their freezer as if something might appear out of thin air.

“You have Ben & Jerry’s?” he asked, his eyes back on Enjolras.

“Get your hands off my ice cream,” Enjolras hissed. So he treated himself with overpriced ice cream every now and then, who was Grantaire to judge him?

Grantaire slammed the freezer shut, still grinning. “I’m not touching it, I swear.”

Grantaire had just started putting together some sandwiches when Courfeyrac appeared in the kitchen and dropped a bag with frozen chicken nuggets and a ready-made lasagne on the counter next to him. “That’s all we had,” he said, shrugging, “Marius is convinced he’s dying, by the way.”

Enjolras snorted and inspected the food Courfeyrac had brought.

“Put that in the microwave,” Grantaire instructed him and handed him the lasagne. “And the chicken nuggets into the oven,” he added.

“Well, I guess you don’t need my help,” Courfeyrac said and was gone before anyone could protest.

Enjolras did as he’d been told by Grantaire, then he resumed his previous position at the kitchen table. He watched Combeferre cook a lot, if it wasn’t for him they’d probably have a lot of frozen pizza. Enjolras was usually too tired to cook for himself, which was why Combeferre sometimes sent him texts at the most random times, asking if he’d eaten anything all day.

The thrown-together dinner was actually quite delicious, and not that Enjolras would admit it, but Grantaire’s sandwiches were the best ones he’d ever had in his entire life.

Jehan and Courfeyrac offered to do the washing up, and they were halfway through Pulp Fiction when they emerged again. Enjolras didn’t even want to think about what had taken them so long. He was nearly asleep by the end of the film, but was wide awake again when he heard Grantaire snort.

“Is that my jumper?” He was holding up a green lump that Enjolras faintly remembered from the night Courfeyrac had crashed on their sofa.

“Oh yeah,” Courfeyrac said, “You let me borrow it, remember? I guess I must have left it here.”

“How did you not notice that there was a jumper stuck between your sofa cushions?”

“No one ever sits at that end of the couch,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

“And we don’t routinely check our flat for other people’s lost garments,” Combeferre added.

Grantaire shook his head and slung the jumper over the back of the sofa.

“Why didn’t you notice that your jumper was gone?”

Grantaire grinned. “It’s not really my favourite.”  He stretched. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Best idea you’ve ever had,” Jehan mumbled. Courfeyrac was fast asleep in his arms and squeezed his eyes shut tightly when he tried to wake him up. “We only have to go across the hall,” Jehan whispered to him.

“Lucky you,” Bossuet grumbled and looked out the window. Rain was pouring down outside, they’d probably be soaked through by the time they reached the bus stop.

Courfeyrac and Jehan waved at everyone and Courfeyrac dragged Jehan off before he could hug every single one of them, mumbling something about being half-asleep and knowing that Jehan wasn’t strong enough to carry him back to his flat, which earned him a punch on his upper arm that was all but light.

Combeferre sat up and looked at their remaining guests. Enjolras knew that he’d either offer them an umbrella or their sofa. “Why don’t you guys stay, the sofa is all yours.”

“He’s right, I don’t want you all to get pneumonia.”

“You’re a true friend,” Joly said and stretched his legs.

Combeferre threw a couple of blankets at their friends and bid them goodnight. Enjolras watched Grantaire trying to fold himself onto the smaller part of the sofa, while Joly and Bossuet stretched out on the long one.

“Come on,” Enjolras said to Grantaire, “that’s hardly comfortable, my bed is big enough.”

Grantaire gaped at him. “Are you sure?”

Quite frankly, Enjolras wasn’t sure at all, but Grantaire had worked hard all day and he deserved a good night’s sleep. He just nodded and walked off towards his bedroom, smiling when he heard Grantaire padding after him.

He pushed the door of his room open for Grantaire and excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned to his room he found Grantaire on the far right of his bed as if he’d been scared that he might take up too much space, still fully clothed and curled up on top of the sheets. Enjolras was somewhat glad that he was already asleep, because there were things he wanted, or he should, talk to him about.  

Enjolras pried the sheets out from under Grantaire and tucked him in as best as he could without accidentally pushing him off the bed and then went to flick off the lights.

He’d thought he’d fall asleep right away, but he hadn’t taken into account that he’d feel his mattress shift when Grantaire turned over, or that he’d hear his quiet breathing. Enjolras turned to look at him in the glow of the streetlights that seeped in through the gap in his curtains. A few stray curls had tumbled over his eyes, he could really use a haircut, Enjolras thought. His lips were slightly parted, and strangely the hope that Grantaire wouldn’t drool onto his pillows wasn’t the first thing on his mind. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss him, to feel those lips on his.

He also briefly wondered what Grantaire what do if he tried. He surely wouldn’t be too happy about it, despite his blatant flirting, Grantaire despised everything he stood for.

Enjolras didn’t sleep too well that night, kept waking up every time Grantaire turned, but when he woke up with sunlight tickling his nose, Grantaire was gone.

He got up, noted that Combeferre wasn’t awake yet, and neither were Joly and Bossuet, the latter just barely keeping Joly from falling off the edge of the sofa. Grantaire’s green jumper was still there, right where he’d put it the night before, but his shoes and jacket were gone.

Enjolras didn’t notice until later that Grantaire had pinned a piece of paper to his corkboard, right next to the two napkins Grantaire had given to him himself. It was a quick sketch of Enjolras wearing the balloon hat Jehan had made for him, _thank you_ was scrawled under it in Grantaire’s messy handwriting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just keeps getting longer and longer, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

Grantaire awoke slowly to the sound of voices somewhere outside his room. He blinked and peered at this alarm clock. It was 2:30, the afternoon sun was shining through his window, his head was throbbing after a long night at work that hadn’t ended when he’d closed up with Bahorel. They’d had a couple of drinks and Grantaire had fallen into bed when the sun had just started coming up.

He heard Jehan thank someone profusely, some idle chit-chat, then the door fell shut. Grantaire rolled out of bed and wobbled into the living room, where he found Jehan smiling down at a massive cardboard box.

“What the hell?” Grantaire croaked. He tried to tug his fingers through his hair but only managed to tangle his curls even more. “What is that?” he asked.

“It’s our new bookshelf,” Jehan explained, sounding like Grantaire was supposed to know all this and didn’t understand why Grantaire was surprised at all.

Grantaire turned around to look at their overflowing bookshelf. “We already have one.”

“This one is bigger.” Jehan looked at him worriedly. “We talked about getting a new one, remember? I got the one you liked.”

“I remember,” Grantaire said slowly. “But what happens to the one we already have, there’s not enough space for both.”

“Oh yeah, Combeferre said he’d take the old one,” Jehan said. Of course Jehan had thought of that, Jehan thought of everything. At least most of the time.

“Is he going to pick it up?” Grantaire walked around the monstrosity of a box on their floor and into the kitchen to make coffee.

“I thought you could bring it over,” Jehan said as he followed him, watching him make coffee and pour himself a bowl of cereal.

“How?” Grantaire asked incredulously, “On the bus?”

Jehan snorted. “No, in the car.”

“I don’t have a car, I thought I’m the one who was drunk last night.” Grantaire flopped into a chair and looked up at Jehan.

“Feuilly has a car, right?”

“He does, but it’s tiny and he won’t let me borrow it.” Feuilly loved his car more than anything in the world, and even though it was basically a construction of scrap metal, there was no way in hell that he’d let Grantaire drive his car.

Jehan took his bowl of cereal and ate a spoonful. “Just ask him nicely,” Jehan said, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth.

Grantaire rubbed his eyes, then watched Jehan finish his cereal, still leaning against the counter. He made a face when he noticed Grantaire’s amused look. “Sorry, I was hungry, do you want me to make you some scrambled eggs? Or waffles? Or something more complicated that will end with me setting the kitchen on fire?”

“No, it’s fine,” Grantaire muttered. He didn’t feel all that hungry anymore.

“Do you mind if Courfeyrac comes over tonight?”

Grantaire shook his head. He liked hanging out with the two of them, they didn’t make him feel like the third wheel, or like he was getting in the way of things.

Apparently he didn’t look too happy about it, though, because Jehan stepped over to him and hugged him a little awkwardly. Grantaire’s face ended up pressed into Jehan’s jumper that had once been Grantaire’s and hung loosely off his shoulders.

“Is everything okay?” Jehan also failed at carding his fingers through his hair, so he settled on lightly patting his head. “You look horrible.”

“Yes, please don’t beat around the bush, tell me I look like shit.” Not that Jehan wasn’t right, the last couple of days just hadn’t been particularly good for his mood. “I was out with Bahorel last night, I’m just tired.”

He’d gone to another meeting with Jehan, had had another argument with Enjolras, and then the next week he’d gone again, and they’d argued again. It felt like he was running this whole thing more and more into the ground and there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t stop himself from talking back to Enjolras, just to provoke some kind of reaction, because other than that Enjolras didn’t have much to say to him, it seemed.

Except for their overly enthusiastic discussions, as Jehan liked to call them, they hadn’t exchanged a word. Sometimes there was an occasional hello or goodbye, but other than that Enjolras was rather quiet.

He didn’t say too much at the meetings either, let his friends talk, listened intently, sometimes commented and threw in his own ideas, which was where Grantaire liked to chip in as well.

Jehan hummed and sat down on the chair opposite of Grantaire. He almost asked him to come back and hug him again. He felt pathetic for even thinking that.

“I’m okay,” he said to Jehan. “Really,” he added when Jehan shot him a doubtful glance.

“Then why do you look so sad?”

“I’m not sad,” he grumbled.

“But you’re not happy either,” Jehan protested.

Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“I like that thought,” Jehan said and got up to pull Grantaire to his feet. “How about you go to Feuilly’s and ask him about the car, and I’ll empty our old bookcase. And later we can put the new one together and I’ll just meet Courfeyrac tomorrow or something.”

“Don’t you think he wants to help?” Grantaire asked with a smirk. He’d probably be putting it together on his own anyway, because Jehan didn’t really have it with IKEA furniture. Jehan had got himself a new bed a couple of months ago and had tried to put it together on his own. It hadn’t ended too well.

Jehan bit his lip. “You really don’t mind if he comes over?”

“No, of course not, just call him, I’ll call Feuilly about the car.”

His call proved futile, of course Feuilly wouldn’t give him the goddamned car. After Jehan had annoyed him for about half an hour and he’d quickly jumped into the shower, Grantaire was on the way to Feuilly’s shop to convince him in person, which would be much more effective, at least according to Jehan.

Feuilly rolled his eyes at him when he saw him come into the shop. “You’re not getting my car. No one drives my car except for me. I told you.”

“Please Feuilly, we really need to get rid of that shelf and we don’t-”

“Just rent a van or something,” Feuilly muttered.

Grantaire picked up one of the particularly expensive guitars and started to play, under the watchful eyes of Feuilly, who didn’t protest, just listened. Apparently he trusted him with a guitar that was worth twice as much as his car. If not more.

He hadn’t played in a long time, which he only realised when his fingers were starting to hurt. Grantaire didn’t want to stop, though, he was going to play until Feuilly got so annoyed at him that he’d throw his car keys at his head. It seemed like he wasn’t entirely unsuccessful because after a while Feuilly left his place behind the cash register and flipped over the _open_ sign at the door.

“Put that down,” he said, nodding at the guitar, “I’ll drive you.”

Grantaire and Feuilly found Jehan waiting in front of an empty bookshelf, waving at them as they entered the flat. “I knew you’d help us, Feuilly, you’re the best.”

Feuilly grinned down at Jehan. “Anything to stop Grantaire from scaring away all my customers.”

“Excuse you,” Grantaire mumbled. “Where are all the books?” he asked, looking around the living room curiously. They were nowhere in sight.

“In your room,” Jehan answered, smiling happily.

“Great.” He’d have to climb over a wall of books to get to his bed. “Well, let’s get this thing out of here.”

“Yeah, I think we might have to take that apart, otherwise it won’t fit into the car.” Feuilly shooed Jehan out of the way and took the shelf apart in no time, grumbling curses at Grantaire and Jehan, who stood beside, watching in awe. Grantaire could have done it himself, but not nearly as fast or efficiently.

“You don’t want to put the new one together by any chance?” Grantaire asked hopefully.

The way Feuilly glared at him was answer enough.

* * *

Enjolras shot an annoyed glance at the door. Some idiot was being particularly noisy in the hallway. He’d been up for hours and had work to do, consequently he wasn’t exactly happy about this kind of distraction.

Combeferre had two classes this afternoon, Courfeyrac had a lecture, so it had been peacefully quiet until about five minutes ago. Maybe someone had finally come to rob every flat in the entire building. The lock of the front door was still broken and Enjolras had taken to emailing their landlord daily to remind him.

He heard someone curse loudly. It sounded a little familiar, actually, maybe a little too familiar. It almost sounded like Grantaire.

That particular thought actually wasn’t as annoying to him as it should have been, because even though Grantaire had apparently made it his task in life to piss Enjolras off as much as he possibly could, he wouldn’t throw him out of their meetings, because he _liked_ to have him there. It was ridiculous because Grantaire was, quite frankly, a horrible pain in the ass.

Enjolras had completely given up on saying a word about the drawings. He’d thought about mentioning them after a meeting once, but Grantaire had been caught up in a conversation with Courfeyrac.

There was a loud thud right outside the door and he was about to get up to check what on earth was going on out there, when the doorbell rang.

He opened the door to find an exhausted looking Grantaire and his ginger friend, whose name he couldn’t quite recall, but he knew he’d seen him at the Corinthe once or twice.

 “What do you want?” he asked, knowing he sounded rude. He didn’t really care that much.

Grantaire smirked. “I’ve always wanted someone to say that to me so I could dramatically say _you_ ,” he said. “But,” he continued, “that’s not why I’m here. Actually, we have something for you.” He pointed at what looked like a disassembled bookshelf.

“Okay, no, not we,” the ginger guy said, “I’m out of here, I have a shop to get back to, you take care of this,” he said to Grantaire and curtly nodded at Enjolras before he took off, leaving Grantaire in front of his door, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Thanks for driving me,” Grantaire called after him. The reply sounded a lot like a muffled _fuck you_. “So,” Grantaire said, “where do you want this?”

“What _is_ that?” He was so close to telling Grantaire to store his firewood elsewhere, somewhere far, far away from him.

“It’s our old bookshelf, Jehan said Combeferre wanted it, so I brought it over.”

Right. He’d almost forgot, Combeferre had told him a couple of days ago, but he hadn’t really thought about it anymore. “Okay, well, let’s just put it in the living room until I can bribe someone to put it together.”

“I can do it,” Grantaire said as he helped him carry one of the bigger boards inside. “If you want,” he added hastily. “I’m good with IKEA things.”

Combeferre would be happy to find a new and fully assembled bookshelf in their living room when he got home, which wouldn’t be for a while. “If you don’t mind,” Enjolras said eventually. Having Grantaire here for a while wouldn’t be the end of the world. He’d be helpful, he promised himself, and wouldn’t give Grantaire a reason to argue with him.

“Not at all,” Grantaire mumbled. “Do you have tools?”

Enjolras then watched Grantaire put together the shelf pretty efficiently, while he instructed him to “hold that right there” and to “push it to the left” and to “apply a little more pressure”.

“I’m trying to apply more pressure, but it’s not moving,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth.

“You have to push harder,” Grantaire muttered, a screw between his lips.

Enjolras tried very hard not to imagine that sentence out of context. Ever since he’d met Grantaire his thoughts had been going into directions he really didn’t want them to go, it was frustrating, pretty much as frustrating as Grantaire was himself.

Half an hour later, the shelf was in place, right next to the one they already had. “Thank you,” Enjolras said quietly. “For the shelf and for putting it up.”

Grantaire was already shuffling towards the door. “No problem.”

“Do you want coffee?” Enjolras asked. “Or tea?” They had been in the same room for over an hour and they hadn’t argued yet, maybe they’d be able to continue like this a little while longer. His work was completely forgotten. He glanced at his laptop, which he’d abandoned on the sofa, then back at Grantaire, who looked back at him uncertainly.

Grantaire scratched his head. “It’s fine, really.”

“Ice cream?” Enjolras tried.

Grantaire snorted. “You’d share your precious ice cream?”

“I would,” Enjolras confirmed. “Sit down, I’ll get some.”

He returned to the living room, where Grantaire had made himself comfortable on the sofa, fiddling with his phone. He accepted his ice cream with a mumbled thank you and looked slightly taken aback when Enjolras handed him the TV remote.

“What?” Enjolras asked. He didn’t like the way Grantaire was looking at him, it was unsettling.

“You’re being nice, it’s scary.” He chuckled and ate a spoonful of ice cream.

“I have good days,” Enjolras grumbled, wondering if he sometimes was a little too hard on Grantaire, that maybe he should try harder not to explode when Grantaire was testing his patience.

Because Grantaire did care, he just did a very good job of hiding it. He’d just put up a shelf for him without batting an eye, he’d made them posters, he’d even helped out at the hospital and if Enjolras asked him for help again, if anyone asked him for help, he’d be there, no doubt about it. Maybe he’d throw in a couple of sarcastic comments for good measure, but he’d be there nonetheless.

Grantaire looked like he was about to say something, but Combeferre’s key turned in the lock and Grantaire greeted him instead.

“Jehan told me you were bringing the bookshelf over, thanks for that,” Combeferre said, smiling at Grantaire, who smiled back at him happily.

Grantaire held up his bowl. “Sure thing, Enjolras bribed me with ice cream.”

Combeferre shot Enjolras one of his looks, although Enjolras couldn’t quite identify this particular one. He shrugged off his jacket and took off his shoes, sat down next to Grantaire and plucked the remote from his fingers.

Combeferre flicked through the channels, avoiding the news, Enjolras noted, probably because he didn’t want to give him and Grantaire anything to fight about. Combeferre and Grantaire started chatting idly, and Grantaire ended up staying for dinner.

The only argument they had that night was about whether they should order Chinese or Thai.

* * *

“Thanks for coming,” Courfeyrac said when Grantaire sat down in the chair next to him.

Grantaire took a sip from his coffee and a bite from his sandwich and sighed. “Please tell me that this isn’t about you and Jehan.” Courfeyrac had sent him an ominous text the day before, asking him to meet him and not to say a word to Jehan.

“Not really.” Courfeyrac beamed at him. “It’s about Jehan’s birthday,” he explained, “but I want to wait for Enjolras and Combeferre to get here, because they’re better at planning things, I usually just get the booze.”

“Fantastic,” Grantaire muttered.

“Do you ever have classes?” Enjolras said by way of greeting. Grantaire hadn’t even noticed that he’d arrived together with Combeferre.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Grantaire retorted.

Combeferre didn’t say anything, only took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Can we get to the point of this? I gather it’s about Jehan’s birthday?”

“Yeah, it’s on Saturday, I thought we could throw him a surprise party, it would be so much fun and we haven’t done that in ages.”

“That’s because none of us actually like surprise parties,” Enjolras said quietly. Grantaire silently agreed.

“You hurt me deeply,” Courfeyrac sniffled.

Grantaire patted him on the back. “I’m sure Jehan would think it’s lovely.” Jehan loved surprised, Grantaire could imagine how excited he’d be.

“Good,” Courfeyrac said, “let’s-”

“This is going to take forever, isn’t it?” Enjolras asked. He looked like he’d just argued with Grantaire for about an hour, and hadn’t slept in days on top of that.

“Do you want to talk about it, Mr Grumpy Face?”

Grantaire snorted. At least it wasn’t him Enjolras was glaring at for once.

“He’s just hungry,” Combeferre said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Here,” Grantaire mumbled and pushed the rest of his sandwich over the table. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, I was thinking Combeferre could bring the food, I’ll bring the drinks and Enjolras could invite everyone.”

“What am I doing here?” Grantaire asked, trying not to watch Enjolras devour his sandwich.

“You have to make sure Jehan suspects nothing until it’s too late,” Courfeyrac said dramatically.

Well, he could do that. “Sure, where do you want to have the party?”

“Our place,” Courfeyrac said immediately. “And maybe you could get some decorations?”

“No,” Enjolras said firmly. “I remember last time you got _decorations_ , I had glitter in my hair for a year.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” Courfeyrac demonstratively stuck out his bottom lip. “Anyway, you looked very pretty with glitter in your hair.”

“Okay, kids, settle down,” Combeferre said. “How about we get something that’s not as annoying as glitter?”

“Balloons,” Grantaire suggested.

Courfeyrac nodded excitedly. “And party hats.”

“And put candles on the cake,” Grantaire said, looking at Combeferre, “I can help you with the food if you want.”

“No, no,” Courfeyrac cut in, “you have to keep him distracted.”

“He’ll know that something’s up,” Grantaire told him. There was no way he could fool Jehan. He’d play along just to humour them, though, Grantaire was sure.

“I know you’ll do your best,” Courfeyrac assured him and started putting together a list of things Combeferre had to cook for the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is just sort of a filler, but I just really like writing about them doing stupid stuff together. The next chapter will be more relevant to the plot, I promise.


	9. Chapter 9

Grantaire had set his alarm for 7 in the morning, but he was already wide awake at 5:30. He tried to go back to sleep, tried to bury his face in his pillow, squeezed his eyes shut tightly, but eventually gave up, turned off the alarm and crawled out of bed.

He’d done this the year before as well, had got up early and made muffins to surprise Jehan. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise this year because he’d done it before, but he had no doubt that Jehan would be happy about it anyway. Then he’d have to keep him busy until later, which hopefully wouldn’t be too hard.

Grantaire made sure to put an excessive amount of chocolate chips into the muffins and decorated them with rainbow sprinkles. When they were done he dozed off on the sofa for a bit, because Jehan probably wouldn’t be too excited if he woke him up this early on a Saturday morning, especially when it was his birthday.

He woke up again when he felt someone brush his hair back and drape a blanket over him. He bolted upright and stared at Jehan, who was smiling down at him. “Go back to bed, you’re not supposed to be awake yet.”

Jehan smirked and did as he was told without a word. He was still wearing his pyjamas, so he couldn’t have been awake for too long.

Grantaire walked into his room a few minutes later and found Jehan wrapped into every blanket he owned, eyes fixed on the door, letting out a squeal when Grantaire came in with one of the muffins, a lit candle on top of it.

“Happy Birthday,” Grantaire said and handed the muffin to Jehan, who blew out the candle with gleaming eyes.

“Thank you so much.” Jehan put the muffin on his nightstand and pulled Grantaire into his arms, so he could plant a kiss on Grantaire’s forehead.

“I wanted to make you breakfast, but I fell asleep,” Grantaire muttered, a little angry with himself.

“You made muffins,” Jehan said cheerily. “And anyway, it’s the thought that counts.” He picked up the muffin, took out the candle, broke a bit off for Grantaire and took a big bite of it. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”

Grantaire hummed and ate his bit. “I made them with extra chocolate chips.” He turned so he could look at Jehan. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Courfeyrac and I are having dinner tonight, but feel free to take me to my favourite bookshop this afternoon.”

“Will do,” Grantaire promised. “Maybe I’ll buy you some coffee as well.”

They ended up at Feuilly’s just as Grantaire had planned, and they played Happy Birthday for Jehan on as many instruments as they could, before Feuilly closed the shop and nodded at Grantaire. “Okay kids, let’s go.”

“Let’s go?” Jehan asked, mildly confused. “Where are we going, I’m meeting Courfeyrac in a bit.”

Grantaire took off his scarf and shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He was actually quite proud of himself because Jehan hadn’t noticed anything until now.

“I’m not?”

“Nope,” Feuilly confirmed. “You’re coming with us,” he said as Grantaire blindfolded him with his scarf.

* * *

Enjolras had never been a big fan of parties. His friends had never even try to throw a birthday party for him, because they knew he’d probably just around and leave. Courfeyrac had tried to make him wear one of the party hats he’d bought, but Enjolras had refused. He’d sing Happy Birthday for Jehan and he’d eat too much cake, but he wouldn’t wear one of those ridiculous hats.

They were all sat in Marius and Courfeyrac’s flat, waiting for Grantaire to bring Jehan over. Courfeyrac was bouncing up and down impatiently, Musichetta was trying to keep her boys away from the cake that Combeferre was guarding, Bahorel and Eponine were already busy making drinks, Marius and Cosette were at the window, watching the street, waiting for Jehan to show up, Enjolras was stood next to the door.

“That’s Feuilly’s car, they’re here,” Cosette whispered after what seemed like an eternity.

Combeferre quickly lit the candles on the cake, while everyone else scrambled to their feet. Enjolras could hear them talking in the hallway, Jehan asking where they were taking him, Grantaire mumbling something, someone laughed, probably Feuilly.

Enjolras opened the door for them and Grantaire and Feuilly led a blindfolded Jehan into the flat. Grantaire carefully took off the scarf that was wrapped over Jehan’s eyes and the whole flat erupted in cheers and laughter. Enjolras was the first victim of one of Jehan’s many tackle hugs that followed.

Courfeyrac carefully put a party hat on Jehan’s head after he’d blown out the candles on his cake. “Please don’t count the candles,” Combeferre said quietly.

“Yeah, there was a...” Courfeyrac shrugged.

“Miscalculation?” Joly chipped in.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who was still hovering next to the door, grinning when Courfeyrac handed him and Feuilly a hat each, and burst out laughing when Enjolras warily eyed the third hat Courfeyrac was holding.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, smiling sweetly as he took the hat from Courfeyrac, “this is a party.”

Feuilly patted him on the back. “You’ll have to suffer with us, mate.”

For some reason it was indefinitely harder for him to refuse Grantaire than refusing Courfeyrac had been. He took it from Grantaire and put it on, making sure that he looked as displeased as he possibly could.

“You look adorable,” Courfeyrac squealed, “don’t take it off, I want to take a picture.”

They had a little trouble fitting everyone into the small living room, even though they’d carried Courfeyrac’s mattress over here so everyone would have a place to sit down. Combeferre directed everyone to the kitchen, where they’d put all the food he’d cooked, with a little, but really only a little, help from Enjolras.

“...really had no idea, Grantaire is actually the worst liar on earth, it’s really surprising that he didn’t give it away,” Jehan was telling Courfeyrac, which had Grantaire throwing a bread roll at his head.

“That’s not for throwing,” Combeferre scolded him and elbowed him in the ribs.

Enjolras was starting to think up good reasons to go sit next to Combeferre, because Grantaire had started drawing on Combeferre’s forearm and Enjolras was curious, and maybe he just wanted to sit a little closer to Grantaire, to be honest, he didn’t even know what exactly he wanted anymore.

“You should get a tattoo, it would look good on you,” Grantaire mumbled as he drew.

“What makes you think I don’t have one already?”

Grantaire froze, blinking at Combeferre. Enjolras knew for a fact that Combeferre actually had more than one tattoo, they were just in places that people usually didn’t get to see.

Feuilly chipped in on their conversation, telling Combeferre that Grantaire had designed two of his tattoos. That was when Bahorel started talking to Enjolras about the charity event at the hospital, apologising again that he hadn’t been there to help, and Enjolras was distracted for a bit.

He only realised that Grantaire was gone when Combeferre sat down next to him and handed him a piece of cake.

* * *

Grantaire was out on the balcony, a half-empty bottle of wine at his feet, smoking a cigarette. It was his second cigarette, actually, he just hadn’t managed to stand up again after the first one and now he was still sat on a cheap plastic chair, blowing smoke rings into the cold air.

The door opened and Jehan came stumbling outside with two plates in hand. “Want some cake?” He handed one of the plates to Grantaire and took his cigarette in exchange. He took a few drags and stubbed it out on the wooden railing.

“Enjoying your party?” Grantaire asked and took a bite of his cake. Combeferre really was an amazing cook, he could probably teach him loads. Grantaire was almost certain that he would if only he asked.

“Oh yeah,” Jehan said, nodding. “Courf is very excited, too, he told me no one actually liked his surprise parties until today. By the way, Bahorel somehow managed to get Joly drunk and now they want to play twister, so you better come back inside soon.”

Grantaire took a sip of his wine and handed the bottle to Jehan. “Yeah, I really don’t want to miss that.”

Joly, Bahorel and Marius were already playing when they went back inside, Joly was face down on the floor laughing, Marius looked like he was about to crash headfirst into him, the only one who seemed like he was somewhat in control of the situation was Bahorel. Bossuet was sat on the floor, spinning the wheel.

Courfeyrac immediately pulled Jehan onto his lap and people around them started protesting when they started kissing a little too passionately for a public setting.

“Don’t look,” Grantaire said and held up his hand in front of Enjolras’ eyes as he sat down next to him on the sofa.

Enjolras tried to bat his hand away. “What happened to your hat?”

“I must have lost it.” He’d _accidentally_ dropped it outside on the balcony, because he’d got pretty annoyed with the rubber band.

“That’s a shame,” Enjolras said and pulled his own hat off. Grantaire was actually surprised that he hadn’t taken it off yet. “Here, you can have mine, since you love them so much.”

He carefully put the hat on Grantaire’s head and Grantaire could have sworn that he was about to die when Enjolras’ fingers briefly brushed over his cheek, because that idiot even made sure that he didn’t snap the rubber band against his skin.

Grantaire cleared his throat and looked at the ongoing twister game. “So, how are they doing?”

“Bossuet nearly knocked out Feuilly before, now he’s not allowed to play anymore,” Combeferre told Grantaire over Enjolras’ head.

“I still haven’t recovered,” Feuilly said. He was sitting on the floor, eating a gigantic piece of cake.

“Do you want me to kiss it better?” Eponine called from across the room, where she was sitting with Cosette and Musichetta, who both burst out laughing.

“No thanks, I have cake.”

Grantaire snorted. “Already have enough ladies on your hands, too, don’t you?”

“As a matter of fact I do,” Feuilly said, grinning up at him.

“It’s because you’re ginger, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s my charming personality.”

They were distracted by a strangled shout from Marius, who’d somehow ended up with Bahorel on top of him, laughing breathlessly.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Marius wailed as he stumbled over to Cosette.

Grantaire didn’t miss the way Eponine looked at the two of them, like she wasn’t really sure whether she should find them adorable or be jealous that it wasn’t her who was now pressing kissed to Marius’ cheek.

“Yeah, I need a break, too,” Bahorel said and got himself a beer.

“Oh come on guys, we’ve barely started,” Joly complained. He looked over in their direction hopefully. “Grantaire, come here.” He waved frantically, his face red, and Grantaire could hardly believe that this was the same guy who’d got paranoid about a bowl of peanuts at the Corinthe so long ago.

Grantaire obliged happily, nearly tripped over Enjolras’ feet on the way and joined Joly, who was now trying to persuade Enjolras to play with them.

“Someone get Enjolras a drink, he needs to lighten up,” Courfeyrac said before Jehan could shut him up.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to get drunk to have fun.”

“You’re not having f-”

Grantaire had to admit that Jehan’s way of getting Courfeyrac to stop talking was quite effective. Enjolras eventually did get off the sofa, cheered on by pretty much everyone in the room, but also dragged Combeferre with him, mumbling that he wouldn’t embarrass himself on his own.

“Please take that off, you’re going to poke someone in the eye,” Joly said to Grantaire and quickly took off his party hat. Grantaire was actually a little sad to see it go, since it was the one Enjolras had given to him.

It only took him about a minute to remember why he really didn’t like Twister. He’d ended up so close to Enjolras that they were touching in multiple places that Grantaire didn’t even want to think about, because he’d probably go insane right there and then.

They made it through two rounds without any major injuries, which was probably why Joly was getting increasingly reckless and knocked Combeferre over, which had them fall over like human dominos and Grantaire ended up with Enjolras’ elbow in his stomach and Enjolras’ nose pressed against the crook of his neck, letting out a breathless huff.

He didn’t even know what to concentrate on. Enjolras’ hair tickling his chin was definitely on top of the list, though. He was distinctly aware of people around them laughing, so Grantaire joined in and made a feeble attempt at getting Enjolras off of him.

“I forgot how painful this game can be,” Grantaire grumbled.

“Sorry,” Enjolras mumbled. His fingers brushed over Grantaire’s hand, which had Grantaire wondering why he always felt like his skin was on fire when Enjolras touched him. It was like some really sick joke the universe was playing on him.

“’s fine.” Grantaire scrambled to his feet, really feeling the wine he’d drank, but managed to stumble back out on the balcony, calling “Go on without me,” over his shoulder.

He heard Courfeyrac snort and Joly giggle. “I think you broke Grantaire,” he heard Feuilly say before Grantaire pulled the door shut.

He didn’t even make it to one of the chairs, he just sank down onto the wooden boards, with his head resting against the wall and his eyes closed. He didn’t open them when the door opened and closed again.

He could feel someone sitting down next to him, brushing against him as they did. Grantaire was almost certain that Jehan had come to join him again.

“Found your hat.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew open. Enjolras was right next to him, legs stretched out, the hat he’d dropped earlier in hand.

“Right,” he whispered and took it from Enjolras, before he could put it on his head again. The last thing he wanted right now was for Enjolras to touch him, because then he’d probably lose all of his self-control.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to inflict any serious injuries,” Enjolras said quietly, eyes fixed at the night sky.

Grantaire coughed. “You... didn’t, I’m fine.” He ran his fingers through his hair, just to give his hands something to do. “I just came out here to smoke.”

“But you’re not smoking,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Smartass,” Grantaire said with a chuckle. He saw a smile tugging at the corners of Enjolras’ mouth.

Enjolras sighed. “I...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“What?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras only shook his head. “No, come on, what is it?” Grantaire poked him in the ribs and Enjolras let out a breathless laugh.

“Nothing,” he said, still glancing at Grantaire’s fingers as if they were some deadly weapon.

Grantaire smirked. “Are you ticklish?”

“No, I’m not,” Enjolras replied immediately.

“Oh, you are.” Grantaire poked him again and then started tickling him in earnest until Enjolras squealed and Grantaire had to put a finger to his lips to make him shut up. “Shh, you’re going to wake up the neighbours.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Enjolras whispered against the tip of his finger, his lips curling into a smile. God, Grantaire would give everything if Enjolras just kept smiling at him like that for the rest of eternity.

Grantaire bit his lip and withdrew his hand. “Definitely not mine,” he answered and wiggled his fingers in Enjolras’ direction.

Grantaire could see Enjolras swallow hard, could see the breathless rise and fall of his chest. What he didn’t expect was for Enjolras to catch his hand in his.

They were close, almost unbearably close. There was no way to get away from him either, there were chairs and Enjolras’ legs trapping him right where he was. His brain didn’t function well enough to make him pull his hand away, to make him get away from this, all he could think of and feel were Enjolras’ warm fingers wrapped around his cold hand.

It was blissful and terrifying all at once, it was inevitable now that Enjolras nose brushed against his, it was going to happen and it wasn’t in his control anymore. His eyes didn’t leave Enjolras’ for a second. He couldn’t close them, he wanted to see.

They both hesitated, but neither of them moved away. This would change everything and they knew it. Grantaire could feel Enjolras fingernails digging into his palm.

“Guys, we’re going to watch a film, are you coming back inside?”

Enjolras’ hand was gone, he was looking the other way now, blinking at Marius, who was staring down them. “Sure,” Enjolras said. Grantaire could have sworn that his voice sounded shaky.

Grantaire shot Marius a murderous glance before he scrambled to his feet. Luckily, he managed not to stumble over Enjolras’ legs on the way back inside, and instantly got himself a drink. He could still feel Enjolras all over, was painfully aware of the marks his fingernails had left on the palm of his hand, but he couldn’t look at him, didn’t dare sit next to him on the mattress, where he’d flopped down next to Courfeyrac.

Combeferre seemed to have noticed something, because his eyes followed Grantaire as he moved about the room and he made space for him on the sofa, when he tried to figure out where to sit.

Grantaire was glad for the excited chatter all around them, no one noticed that something was definitely off, only Jehan turned around, shooting him a questioning glance. Grantaire only shook his head. Nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

* * *

“You’re pacing,” Combeferre mused.

Enjolras ignored him and kept walking back and forth. He’d hardly slept, couldn’t forget how Grantaire had barely looked at him when they’d all left the night before.

“Why are you pacing?”

Enjolras briefly glanced at him when he sat down on the sofa, but still didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say anyway. _I nearly kissed Grantaire and now it’s all I can think about_ definitely was an option.

Combeferre would know what to do, he’d have some wise words or he’d at least manage to calm him down enough so he could figure it out for himself. It was just that he’d hardly talked to Combeferre about this, had only told him about the drawings, but had carefully avoided speaking of how he’d somehow developed an urge to be as close to Grantaire as humanly possible at any given time.

Enjolras stopped dead and stared at Combeferre, hoping he’d just know like he always did.

“Something happened,” Combeferre started, scrutinising his face, “and you want me to read your mind because you’re scared of...” He trailed off, his eyes narrowed. “Just tell me, the whole mind-reading thing doesn’t work this early in the morning.”

Enjolras huffed and shook his head.

“Don’t be difficult,” Combeferre muttered. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It actually is that bad,” Enjolras shot back, hands clenching into fists.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to go talk to him,” Combeferre said with a shrug and stood up. Enjolras followed him into the kitchen.

“Talk to him?” Enjolras echoed. “I thought you didn’t...”

“I’m really not blind,” Combeferre said, eyebrows raised, and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Just go and apologise.”

“Why do you think I’m the one who has to apologise?”

Combeferre pursed his lips.

“Never mind,” Enjolras hissed and went to pull on his coat. He’d go to Grantaire’s and talk to him. For once he found himself wondering why he didn’t drink, because _that_ would make a marvellous excuse. He nearly pulled Combeferre’s shoes, but was out the door a minute later, wearing his own.

He didn’t exactly except to literally run into Grantaire on his way down the stairs. Grantaire looked up at him, now even shorter because he was one step down, blue eyes wide, cheeks flushed and his curls ruffled.

“You’re here,” Enjolras said. Seemed like he’d have to change his plans accordingly.

“I am,” Grantaire confirmed.

Enjolras nodded and brushed his hair back. “Why?”

“I just wanted to,” Grantaire bit his lip, “ask you something,” he continued, scratching his head, visibly steeling himself, “about that thing that happened on the balcony.”

Enjolras wasn’t quite sure if he remembered how to breathe. “Right.”

Grantaire laughed nervously. “So... what was that thing on the balcony?” he asked, his expression serious all of a sudden.

“I don’t know, I didn’t mean to...” He knew it was the wrong answer the second he said it. Grantaire’s expression hardly changed, but there was something in his eyes that told the truth about how he really felt.

“Well,” Grantaire said, his tone so carefully controlled, so unlike him, “thanks for clearing that up.”

Before Enjolras could stop him, before he could think of what to do, Grantaire turned around and stomped down the stairs and out the door.

Enjolras stood frozen at the top of the stairs, staring down at the door that had slammed shut behind Grantaire. Very, very slowly he shuffled back into their flat, thought about hiding in his room for the rest of life at first, but then decided against it.

He found Combeferre in the kitchen, shovelling French toast onto a plate. “That was fast.”

“I fucked up.”

Combeferre wordlessly handed him his breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when the next update will be, uni starts again on Monday and I'll probaby be busy.  
> (And I'm trying not to neglect my other fics.)  
> (Thanks for reading. I'm not sure if I ever said that, but yeah. You're all brilliant.)


	10. Chapter 10

“Grantaire?” The door fell shut and he heard footsteps come towards his room. “Grantaire?” Jehan called again.

He pulled a pillow over his head. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, not even Jehan. The door to his room opened and Grantaire screwed his eyes shut, thinking that pretending to be asleep would be a pretty good tactic for now.

“I can tell you’re not sleeping, you know?”

Why oh why couldn’t he just leave him alone. Probably because he knew that deep down Grantaire really didn’t want to be alone, because he knew that he’d come to him eventually.

“I’m an idiot,” Grantaire muttered and threw the pillow on the floor.

Jehan sat down at his feet. “Is this about whatever happened between you and Enjolras out on the balcony?”

Right, fooling Jehan had never worked well for him. Grantaire sat up and shrugged. “Not exactly. Maybe a little bit.”

Jehan pulled a blanket over his legs, saying nothing, waiting for Grantaire to elaborate.

“You know,” Grantaire said and laughed hollowly, “for a second I thought I might actually... I don’t know, I thought I might have a chance with Enjolras? Isn’t that just fucking ridiculous? I mean, why did I even think that, I can’t believe I actually...” He breathed in shakily and shook his head.

Jehan bit his lip. “What happened?”

“We nearly kissed,” Grantaire grit out. He could have counted Enjolras’ fucking eyelashes, that’s how close they’d been. “Marius sort of... interrupted us.” He’d never been particularly close to Marius, actually, he barely knew the guy, and Grantaire was sure that he was nice enough, but he could have killed him in that moment.

“How do you know he doesn’t still want to?” Jehan asked and tugged at the blanket. “Kiss you, I mean.”

“Well, I went over to his place and he made pretty clear that he doesn’t still want to and that he actually didn’t really mean to in the first place.”

Jehan actually looked almost angry for a moment, but seemed to catch himself in the end. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Grantaire watched him go, not sure what to do now. He didn’t feel like doing anything at all, he didn’t even feel like crying anymore. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure what he’d been expecting when he’d gone to see Enjolras. He probably should have expected something along the lines of this.

“Do you want me to kill him?” Jehan asked when he returned with their teas, his expression totally serious.

Grantaire snorted. “No, it’s fine, I’ll just hide out in here for a bit until I don’t feel like dying in his presence anymore.”

“I know people, you know,” Jehan continued anyway, although he had trouble keeping a straight face now.

“I’m glad you’d go to such lengths for me,” Grantaire muttered and nudged Jehan’s side, “but we both know that there actually are things Eponine won’t do, murder included.”

“So you’re just going to avoid Enjolras until the end of time?”

“I guess it won’t be too hard.” Really, he’d only have to stay away from the Musain, he sure as hell wouldn’t miss those meetings. Maybe he’d miss them a little. Or maybe he’d miss them more than anything, who was he kidding, he’d probably go crazy.

* * *

“Enjolras, you have to go talk to him.” Combeferre was lounging on Enjolras’ bed, watching Enjolras tidy his room.

He’d been doing this for hours. First he’d eaten all of Combeferre’s breakfast, then he’d started cleaning up. Except that now there wasn’t even anything to clean up anymore, he was just shifting his belongings around. “I heard you the first time,” Enjolras said and started sorting the few CDs he had, “I also heard you the second and the third time, just for the record.”

Enjolras wasn’t looking at Combeferre, but he was pretty sure that he was rolling his eyes. He’d tried to talk to him, it hadn’t worked out too well, he was pretty sure he didn’t need to remind Combeferre of that.

“Do you think I should move my desk?” Enjolras asked and accidentally tipped over a pile of books on his desk. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Combeferre snorted. “You’re cleaning _and_ swearing, it’s pretty impressive, I didn’t think he meant that much to you.”

“He doesn’t,” Enjolras shouted and bestowed Combeferre with a withering look. Combeferre was still smiling pleasantly, indicating that Enjolras could say just about anything to him right now and he wouldn’t be bothered.  Enjolras sighed. “I just... I should have gone after him.”

“Why didn’t you?” Combeferre sat up, head tilted slightly.

Enjolras shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted.

Enjolras thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe because I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” Combeferre watched him intently over the rim of his glasses.

“’Ferre, please stop trying to be my therapist.”

“You have to admit that I’m doing a pretty good job at the moment.”

Enjolras made a frustrated noise. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said slowly. “Don’t tell me you think I could actually make it work with him, we’re too different, we’d kill each other.” One day he’d go one step too far, he’d say something that would drive Grantaire away from him, something that he couldn’t easily take back. He didn’t want that, and he didn’t want to do that to Grantaire.

“He surely isn’t perfect for you,” Combeferre agreed, “but have you considered the possibility that you need someone like him? Of course it won’t be easy, but you’ve never been one to take the easy way.”

Enjolras sat down next to him, pondering. He could screw this up in so many ways, actually, he already had. Grantaire probably didn’t even want to talk to him and if he did, Enjolras would probably manage to make it even worse. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.

“I should go talk to him.”

Combeferre gave him a _that’s what I’ve been saying for two hours_ look, but kept his mouth shut and didn’t say a word when Enjolras reached under the bed, pulled out the shoebox he’d been hiding there and ran out the door.

* * *

They’d migrated to Jehan’s bed in the course of the afternoon, mainly because the light there was better. Grantaire was painting, Jehan was on his bed, reading and occasionally texting Courfeyrac, muttering something every now and then, but Grantaire never asked, because Jehan wasn’t talking to him anyway.

The first time the doorbell rang neither of them moved.

“Can’t be arsed,” Grantaire mumbled and Jehan nodded understandingly, not even looking up from his book.

The second time, Grantaire shot a desperate glance to the heavens and Jehan made a disgruntled noise.

“Not moving,” Grantaire whispered when the bell rang for the third time.

“I’ll go.” Jehan carefully shut his book and slid off his bed. “Just in case it’s Enjolras, and I’m actually pretty sure it’s him, do you want me to tell him to go away?”

Grantaire nodded, glad that Jehan didn’t close the door behind him, so he could eavesdrop. He heard Enjolras – of course it was him – greet Jehan. He sounded serious, maybe a little unsure. Grantaire heard Jehan tell him that he didn’t want to see him, that he should give him some time, and didn’t give in when Enjolras tried his threatening tone, the one he always used when he was ranting about some injustice or another.

Enjolras seemed to give in eventually. “Give this to him, will you?”

The door fell shut and Grantaire stumbled out of Jehan’s room. He was really curious now. Jehan held up a shoebox. “He looked really upset, you know.”

“Good,” Grantaire mumbled and took the box from Jehan. “What is this?”

“Open it,” Jehan whispered. He looked a little too excited.

“What if it’s a bomb?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Grantaire slowly took off the lid and peered inside the box. He looked at Jehan, who looked almost as confused as Grantaire felt, then back at the contents of the box. “What the fuck,” Grantaire muttered and started sifting through the little bits and pieces of paper.

“How did he get all those?” Jehan took one of them. “Look, this flyer is from over a year ago.”

Grantaire snatched it from his hands. “Holy shit. I don’t even remember drawing some of those. I’m pretty sure I left that on in a library book once. And this one is my History of Art professor dressed as a witch.” He picked up one drawing after another, trying to remember where he’d left them, wondering how the hell Enjolras had come by all of those. “I don’t understand anything anymore, how did he know it was me?”

“I guess you’ll have to ask him,” Jehan mused, then grabbed another one of the drawings. “Those are really good, why did you just leave them lying around?”

“They’re really not that special,” Grantaire said with a shrug.

“Seems like Enjolras disagreed.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do now? He can’t just come here and leave this without an explanation.” Grantaire closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was all too much, he just wanted to crawl into bed and not get up for at least a week.

“He probably would have explained if-”

“Don’t defend him,” Grantaire grumbled, not unkindly. It wasn’t like there were sides to take, but he really didn’t need Jehan to find excuses for Enjolras.

“Sorry.” Jehan took the box from him and placed it on the table. “But let’s be honest, if you want to know what’s going on you’ll have to talk to him sooner or later.”

He hated to admit it, but Jehan was right.

* * *

“’Ferre?” Enjolras called when he barged back into their flat.

“Enjolras, there you are, Combeferre wouldn’t tell me where you went.” Courfeyrac’s dark mop of curls appeared from behind a pile of sofa cushions.

“Where is he?” Enjolras pushed Courfeyrac’s feet off the couch, so there was space for him to sit down.

“He went to buy food, I think.”

“You think,” Enjolras echoed. “And he left you here unsupervised?”

Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out at him. “So, where have you been?”

“I needed to fix something,” Enjolras said. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to tell Courfeyrac, especially because he might actually be able to help him, since his mission had been pretty much a failure, even though Jehan had at least promised to give the box to Grantaire. If Grantaire wouldn’t let him tell him that he cared about him – provided that Enjolras would have had the guts to say that if he’d got the chance – he needed to show him somehow.

“Did you?” Courfeyrac asked, poking Enjolras’ thigh with his toes. “Fix it, I mean?”

“Not really,” Enjolras admitted. At least he’d tried.

“He’ll forgive you.”

Was there even anyone left who didn’t know everything already? There was no way Combeferre had told him, so Courfeyrac must have figured it out on his own. Or he’d talked to Grantaire. Courfeyrac must have noticed his confused expression, because he chuckled.

“You know, Marius told me he interrupted you and Grantaire on the balcony last night, and first I thought he was hallucinating or something, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Good for you.”

“No, it’s not good, nothing’s good,” Enjolras whined and promptly buried his face in one of the cushions.

Courfeyrac didn’t say anything for a long time, probably because he wasn’t really used to him being whiny, that was usually a privilege reserved for Combeferre. Eventually he gently patted his back. “You know, I was scared, too.” Enjolras didn’t answer. “But you’ll figure this out, and you’ll fight a lot, but you’ll also have great sex.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said into the cushion. He tried not to sound too sarcastic, but at the moment it didn’t even seem like Grantaire would speak to him any time soon, let alone sleep with him.

When Combeferre came back about ten minutes later, Enjolras had resumed a more normal position on the sofa and was watching TV with Courfeyrac. He actually had a lot of work to do, but he knew he’d only end up even more frustrated if he tried doing anything productive. He could hardly pay attention to the TV, because he was waiting for his phone to ring or for Grantaire to miraculously show up at his door.

“How did it go?” Combeferre asked as he settled next to him on the sofa.

“Don’t ask,” Enjolras muttered.

* * *

It was already dark when Grantaire hopped off the bus around the corner from where Enjolras lived. The air was cold and he was starting to be thankful that Jehan had pulled his beanie on his head before he’d left. He was also starting to regret that he hadn’t listened to him when he’d tried to convince him to put on a warmer jacket.

Grantaire stopped dead in front of the front door, suddenly not sure if he really wanted to talk to Enjolras. He wanted to see him, but all of this seemed like some ridiculous joke that he somehow failed to understand.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out his pocket. He only had two left, one for before and one for after, he thought, and lit the first one.

He sat down on the front steps, watched cars drive by and people hush past. Hardly anyone spared him a glance. He could hear voices inside the building, a door fall shut, steps coming down the stairs. Standing up, he took another drag of his cigarette before he stubbed it out and found himself face to face with Courfeyrac.

“Please pretend you didn’t see me,” Grantaire said quietly.

Courfeyrac folded his arms across his chest. “You need to get your ass up there, mate.”

“I’m trying.” He really was, he’d finished his cigarette and he’d promised himself he’d go then, but he was starting to feel more and more uneasy. The easiest thing would be to run, run back home, run to a bar, anywhere away from here, really, and that was exactly what he’d do if he didn’t get his shit together soon.

“Look, I don’t really know what happened,” Courfeyrac said and put a hand on his shoulder, “but I know the two of you, so either the problem is that Enjolras sucks at talking about his feelings and whatever he wanted to say just came out totally wrong or you’re being stubborn as fuck and didn’t listen properly.”

Grantaire was about to tell him that he wasn’t being stubborn at all, but Courfeyrac firmly shook his head.

“No, I’m serious. Maybe it was a bit of both. Whatever, just work it out, we’re all sick of watching you guys dance around each other.” He was smiling now and patted Grantaire on the shoulder. “Anyway, that’s my bus,” he said, pointing at the bus that was approaching, “so good luck to you.”

Courfeyrac pulled him into a brief hug and then sprinted off towards the bus stop, leaving Grantaire alone again. He took his last cigarette, fiddling with it before he eventually lit it. He could always buy a new pack later on, he needed this one right now.

* * *

“Maybe I should just go to bed and feel sorry for myself,” Enjolras mumbled. He’d given in and tried to write an essay. He’d managed to form exactly two sentences, then he’d proceeded to stare into space.

It was hopeless and he really needed to get a grip, preferably soon, because he didn’t like himself a whole lot at the moment. He hated feeling like this, he hadn’t asked for this and he didn’t know what he had to do to feel normal again, it was frustrating and also a little terrifying.

“He’ll come,” Combeferre told him. “Maybe not today, but he’ll come.”

Enjolras sighed and checked his emails. There was one from his mother, reminding him of the Christmas dinner he was expected to attend. He wouldn’t go. There was another one from his father, complimenting him on not having been arrested in a while and also reminding him of the Christmas dinner, saying they’d be very happy to see him, but that he understood if Enjolras had other obligations.

His father probably didn’t want to spend Christmas with his mother either. It wasn’t like his parents weren’t happy with each other, but his mother had always taken their position in society a little too seriously for his taste.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” Enjolras asked Combeferre. He actually had a pretty big family, a very chaotic one, too. Enjolras had met various relatives of his and he’d come to the conclusion that Combeferre was probably adopted.

“Maybe for a couple of days,” he replied. “I haven’t really thought about it. You’re staying here, aren’t you?”

“As always,” Enjolras muttered. He didn’t like Christmas all too much anyway, it was just another holiday.

“I’ll stay if you want,” he offered, like he did every year. “Or you could always come with me.”

Courfeyrac had made that mistake once, when his parents had been on a cruise and he hadn’t wanted to spend the holidays with Enjolras, because according to Courfeyrac he was _worse than the Grinch_.

Enjolras grinned. “No, thanks.”

He’d just hole up in their flat, eat a lot of instant meals and watch every stupid Christmas film on TV, because Combeferre wasn’t around to judge him. Not that Combeferre would seriously judge him, but he always made a face like Enjolras was putting him through hell when he was watching something particularly stupid.

Grantaire surely wouldn’t mind watching stupid movies with him.

That was it, that thing he didn’t seem to be able to turn off, when his brain randomly inserted Grantaire into scenarios that would never happen. It usually resulted in Enjolras wanting to kick himself in the face.

He was about to get himself something terribly unhealthy from the kitchen, when there was a knock on the door.

“You go,” Combeferre said cheerfully.

Enjolras nodded, not sure if he dared to hope, and yanked the door open.

Grantaire seemed to be surprised to see him, even though he was standing on his doorstep after all. “Hi,” he said, his voice sounding raspy.

“Hey.” He shuffled his feet and glanced at Combeferre, who smiled at him reassuringly, then he stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me forever, I hope it turned out alright.  
> (Have I ever told you how much I love comments, I'm just saying.)


	11. Chapter 11

Enjolras had done a lot of things in his life that others would be scared of, had led demonstrations, had once nearly started a riot, (okay, maybe twice), he’d spoken in front of hundreds of people, and sure, he’d been nervous, he’d been on edge for days, had annoyed Combeferre about it non-stop, but none of these things had been nearly as terrifying as standing in front of Grantaire was in this very moment.

Grantaire didn’t say another word after his greeting, only stared at him like he was waiting for an explanation. Enjolras owed him one, sure, but he didn’t even know where to start.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Enjolras mumbled. It was a start. A bad start, but still.

Grantaire pursed his lips. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, still keeping quiet, but obviously growing impatient. There was no way of telling how exactly he was feeling, he wasn’t too happy with the situation, that much was clear, Enjolras just wasn’t sure if he even had a chance to fix this or if all Grantaire was here for was to find out what was going on. If that was all he was here for, well, Enjolras couldn’t blame him.

Grantaire tilted his head, looking at him expectantly. _I don’t know how to do this_ , Enjolras wanted to say. “Do you want to come inside?” he asked eventually.

“No, Enjolras, I don’t want to come inside,” Grantaire said angrily, “I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I... what do you mean?” There were too many things going on.

“What do I mean?” Grantaire looked like he was about to turn around and leave. This time, Enjolras promised himself, he wouldn’t let him. “What I mean is, first you almost kiss me, then you tell me you didn’t want to, then you show up with those drawings.” Enjolras thought he saw Grantaire’s hands clench into fists in his pockets. “I’d love to know where you got those, by the way,” he added. He looked to the floor, shaking his head. “Just tell me what you want, I’m really not in the mood for guessing.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, because he really hadn’t done this right and Grantaire looked so frustrated and he hadn’t wanted this, this was part of the reason why he’d never even considered dating anyone. Because it was messy and confusing and ended with people asking him what he wanted and there was absolutely no satisfying answer to that question. Not ever.

“Okay,” Grantaire muttered, “is that all?” He took a step backwards and vaguely gestured at the stairs. “Because if it is, I might as well go.”

“No, don’t go.” Enjolras grabbed for his hand. His fingers were cold, everything about Grantaire was cold, his jacket when Enjolras pulled Grantaire into his arms, and his lips when Enjolras kissed him. He smelt like cigarettes and the cold winter air and he made a surprised sound when their lips met, like it was the last thing he would have expected to happen.

* * *

Grantaire’s brain didn’t compute, because Enjolras was kissing him, very, very reluctantly, but that didn’t change anything about the facts at hand, this was definitely happening.

“Enjolras,” he muttered against his lips. “Wait a second.” He’d been angry a minute ago, now he wasn’t really sure what he was feeling, and he wanted to figure that out first. He immediately came to regret saying it, because the second Enjolras pulled away he wanted his lips back on his.

“Do you want to come inside now?” Enjolras asked, smiling timidly.

God, he looked beautiful, cheeks flushed, lips curling into a smile. Grantaire’s gaze flickered down to his feet. Enjolras was only wearing socks and it wasn’t exactly warm, and this might take a while, so Grantaire nodded. This wasn’t how he’d expected this to go at all, he’d thought he’d have to drown his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey later on.

He curtly nodded at Combeferre, who did an exceptional job at pretending that he wasn’t interested in what was going on in the slightest, shrugged off his jacket and took off his beanie and his shoes before he followed Enjolras into his room.

Enjolras sat down on his bed, one foot tapping restlessly, Grantaire remained standing, leaning against the closed door. “I’m still mad at you,” he clarified. Only a little bit, though.

Enjolras bit his lip, which didn’t really help Grantaire concentrate. “I did want to kiss you on the balcony, I just thought that maybe you’d changed your mind and then I didn’t know what to say and I sort of panicked, I guess?” Enjolras was on his feet again, carefully keeping his distance. “I didn’t want you to think...”

Grantaire nodded. Enjolras was a fucking idiot, but that was something Grantaire could relate to. There was no point in making a big deal of this, and Enjolras had pretty much made his intentions clear, so Grantaire decided to move on to another very interesting topic. “What about the drawings?”

“I found them,” Enjolras said quickly, “I didn’t know they were yours until recently, I just picked them up all over the place.”

“Why?” He barely understood Jehan saving all his doodles from the bin, let alone Enjolras picking up a stranger’s drawings.

“Because they’re fantastic and I really didn’t get why anyone would just leave them lying around, I mean one of them was basically a replica of a Van Gogh painting in pen.”

Grantaire actually thought he remembered that one, he hadn’t liked it all that much, though. “And it never occurred to you that you could, I don’t know, maybe tell me?”

“I wanted to,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “I thought you’d think I was weird.”

Grantaire snorted. “Well, I do.” He was flattered, too, in a way.

“Can I have them back?” Enjolras asked suddenly. “Please tell me you didn’t throw them away.”

“No, Jehan wouldn’t let me,” Grantaire said. He would have loved to set them all on fire, they weren’t perfect, they were incomplete, but if Enjolras wanted them he could have them. “I guess you can have them back.” His eyes flickered over to the drawings he’d given to Enjolras. “I suppose that is why you knew they were mine?”

Enjolras followed his gaze and nodded.

“You’re an idiot,” Grantaire muttered. He was glad that it came out sounding more fond than frustrated.  

Enjolras smirked. “Are you still angry at me?”

Grantaire shook his head. Truly, he wasn’t angry anymore, no one could ever be angry at Enjolras when he looked like this, eyes blazing and a faint blush on his cheeks, no one could be mad when the one person who never apologised for anything actually did. He didn’t know Enjolras like this, this side of him was so completely new to him, he knew Enjolras to care about his causes, in fact, he cared about them so much that it was easy to forget that he cared about his friends even more.

Grantaire was nervous now that the talking was done. He took a hesitant step towards Enjolras, who eagerly met him halfway.

Grantaire hadn’t done this in a while, hadn’t kissed anyone else for ages, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Enjolras pressed against him when he kissed him, which had them stumbling back against the door with a loud thud. Grantaire didn’t even want to think about what exactly Combeferre was thinking right now.

He gently nipped at Enjolras’ lower lip, more than happy with how Enjolras shivered in his arms. Enjolras moved away from his lips, down the line of his jaw and to his neck. Grantaire’s knees were starting to feel a bit wobbly and it didn’t help that Enjolras was now biting and sucking at his neck.

Grantaire let out a soft whine, felt Enjolras smile against his skin, and let his head fall back against the door, hardly aware that it was actually quite painful, because Enjolras was still sucking at his neck, oh, he’d have bruises there tomorrow.

And as much as he would have loved to just enjoy this moment, to enjoy that he was allowed to have this, there was something nagging at him, far in the back of his mind right now, but the thought was there all the same and it wouldn’t let him go. “Enjolras...” God, he couldn’t even manage to form a proper sentence, and they’d only kissed, he didn’t even want to imagine what Enjolras would do to him if they were to take this further.

Enjolras nuzzled at his neck and hummed.

“You know that this isn’t going to work, right?” He hated to say it, but there was no way in hell that this would end well for the both of them.

“Please contain your optimism,” Enjolras muttered sarcastically. He sighed and went to sit on his bed again, staring up at Grantaire.

“Oh, come on, we fight enough as it is.” They’d make the most dysfunctional couple the world had ever seen. He hadn’t thought this through properly and now all he could think of was all the ways this could go wrong.

Enjolras let himself fall back onto the mattress. “I’d usually be the first one to agree with you on that,” he said slowly, “but we weren’t fighting just now, right?”

“You think that because we’ve managed not to argue for, what, like half an hour, we could...” He trailed off and sat down next to Enjolras, pondering.

“I think we could _try_ ,” Enjolras said pointedly.

Grantaire highly doubted it. Things didn’t work out for him, they never did. He’d once thought that maybe things wouldn’t turn out all that bad, but life had taught him otherwise.

Enjolras tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Let’s go out, just you and me.”

Grantaire grinned. He liked the idea of it, but at the same time he felt terribly scared that he’d fuck this all up. Enjolras tugged at his shirt again, quietly asking for an answer. “I want to,” Grantaire started, looking down at Enjolras.

“But?” Enjolras asked. His hand was now resting at Grantaire’s lower back, slowly driving him insane.

“I suck at being a human being sometimes,” Grantaire mumbled, not sure how to explain. “I just... it’s not going to be easy.”

Enjolras sat up. “Are you trying to talk me out of this?”

“No, I’m just trying to explain what you’re getting into.” Enjolras was going to hate him sometimes, not that that would be new to him.

Enjolras nodded. “What are you doing on Wednesday night then?”

* * *

Wednesday evening didn’t really start too well for Enjolras. Even though Courfeyrac was probably trying to help, he didn’t really manage to do so with his excited bustling and his constant chatter, if anything, it only made Enjolras more nervous.

Combeferre wasn’t home yet, so Enjolras had to make himself a cup of tea, something Combeferre would do for him if he was here. He promptly spilled the tea all over his jeans and his white shirt, Courfeyrac sitting next to him, staring at him in awe. “Enjolras, is Grantaire actually turning you into an anxious mess?” He grinned widely. “I like it.”

“Leave me alone,” Enjolras grumbled and quickly changed into one of the outfits he’d previously ruled out.

Courfeyrac flung a scarf around Enjolras’ neck before he left. “Make me proud,” he said solemnly. “And be home before midnight,” he called after him.

Once he’d reached the bus stop, it was drizzling, he didn’t have an umbrella and his bus seemed to be late as well. He sent a quick text to Grantaire, telling him he wouldn’t be there on time, hoping he wouldn’t be completely soaked by the time he got on the bus.

When he knocked on Grantaire’s door his hair was still a little damp and his socks were uncomfortably wet, because he’d stepped in a small puddle. No, things really weren’t going his way. But if he had to sit through an evening with wet toes in order to be with Grantaire, he’d do it.

Grantaire opened the door for him with Jehan looking over his shoulder, eyeing him from head to toe. “Take an umbrella,” he said dryly and called, “Have fun kids, don’t stay out too late,” over his shoulder before he disappeared into his room. Yeah, Jehan and Courfeyrac were probably soulmates.

“Ready?” Grantaire asked, blindly reaching for something behind the door, grinning at Enjolras all the while. Enjolras himself was grinning back, probably looking like a complete idiot. He felt like a complete idiot, too.

Grantaire held up a blue umbrella with polka dots. “Yeah, no...” He quickly exchanged it for a black one and led the way back down the stairs.

“So, where’s that place you wanted to take me to?” Enjolras asked when they were out the door. Grantaire had promised he knew the most amazing restaurant, so Enjolras had agreed to go there with him, glad that he didn’t have to do any of the planning. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to dates.

Grantaire hooked his arm though Enjolras’. “I’ll lead the way, it’s basically around the corner.”

Enjolras let Grantaire drag him down the street. At least it had stopped raining, which gave the tips of his toes a chance to dry.

“Don’t judge the restaurant by its looks, okay?” Grantaire said. “It looks like a really phony Italian restaurant with chequered tablecloths and candles and pictures of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and all that crap, but the food is absolutely fantastic. Jehan and I found it when we were really drunk and wanted pizza.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just like the food because you were drunk?” Enjolras asked, which earned him a gentle shove from Grantaire.

“No, we went back a while later and it was still amazing, they also have excellent desserts,” Grantaire told him, and kept babbling about food until he pulled him into a tiny restaurant that looked exactly as Grantaire had described it.

Going by the way they were greeted it seemed that Grantaire was somewhat of a regular and the waitress who led them to a small table in the back beamed at them happily. So far so good.

Grantaire smiled at him a little uncertainly when the waitress had brought their drinks. “Is it too much for a first date? I honestly only thought about the food.”

“No, no, it’s great, don’t worry.” Enjolras really didn’t pay much attention to their surroundings anyway, Grantaire was too distracting.

“Good,” Grantaire said, visibly relieved. “I’m a bit nervous, I know I shouldn’t be, we know each other, it’s not like... Oh god, now I’m babbling, you know what, maybe you should talk.”

“I’m nervous, too,” Enjolras admitted. It was all he managed to say, really.

They ordered their food and Grantaire didn’t even try to hide his laughter when Enjolras ordered a Hawaiian pizza. Enjolras took a sip of his wine and rolled his eyes at Grantaire. “Don’t even start,” he muttered.

Grantaire laughed. “I won’t say a word, I promise. Do you have a pen?”

Enjolras rummaged in his bag and handed one to Grantaire. “What do you need it for?”

“Oh, I just want to give you something for your collection,” Grantaire said and grabbed a napkin. They were chatting idly while Grantaire was drawing and Enjolras found that they actually agreed on more things than he’d thought. He’d never doubted that Grantaire was intelligent, but talking to him like that was an entirely different thing and since they tried to steer around topics they disagreed on their conversation was a lot more easygoing.

By the time their orders arrived Grantaire had drawn him a picture of some canal in Venice that closely resembled the painting right above their table. All Enjolras could do was watch him with an open mouth.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” their waitress said to him, when she returned to them with their food.

“Very,” Enjolras choked out.

“We’ll take another one any time,” she said to Grantaire. “Enjoy your food.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows questioningly. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, I made that one,” Grantaire said, pointing at the painting above their heads with his fork.

“You what?” Enjolras looked up at the painting then back at Grantaire, who’d started shovelling pasta into his mouth.

“Well, I told you, Jehan and I found this place when we were completely wasted,” Grantaire said. Enjolras nodded. “We didn’t have enough money to pay for the pizza, but Antonio, the cook, sort of took pity on us and I promised to make it up to him.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s worth more than a pizza,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire shrugged and pushed his plate over to Enjolras. “Do you want to try?”

“Sure.” Enjolras ate a bite of his pasta, which tasted just as great as his pizza. “Do you want to try mine?”

Grantaire eyed his pizza suspiciously. “A very tiny little piece.” He chewed it very slowly, keeping eye contact with Enjolras, who was starting to blush for no reason whatsoever. “Okay, you know what?” Grantaire said, “I have to admit that it’s actually not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“You’d never even _tried_ it before?”

* * *

Grantaire was pretty sure that this date couldn’t be going any better. He hadn’t done a lot of dating, but he’d had his fair share of bad dates and this definitely wasn’t one of them.  They only got into a little argument about if one can tell whether they like or don’t like something without even trying it, but except for that the evening was filled with pleasant talking and a lot of laughter.

All in all, Grantaire was more than happy with the outcome. Enjolras insisted on paying, so Grantaire let him, feeling like he was having a stroke because of the way Enjolras smiled when Grantaire promised he’d pay next time.

Apparently there would be a next time then.

When they stepped out of the restaurant it was raining again, so they had to huddle under Grantaire’s umbrella, slowly making their way back to Grantaire’s place.

“That was nice,” Grantaire said, clutching the umbrella like it was the only thing that kept him down to earth at the moment.

“More than nice, I’d say,” Enjolras corrected.

Grantaire briefly wondered if Enjolras was going to kiss him before he left, but then decided that he really didn’t want him to leave just yet. “Do you want to come upstairs?” he blurted out before he’d even properly thought about it. “I mean, not to... just... I don’t want you to go yet and I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can just... talk... or whatever you want to do.” He scratched his head, silently cursing his non-existent brain-to-mouth filter. “But it’s okay if you want to leave, whatever you want, I just wanted to ask.” It wasn’t getting any better, so he pressed his lips together, promising himself that he’d keep his mouth shut now.

Enjolras smiled at him. God, he was smiling a lot this evening and Grantaire felt like some part of him was floating away every time he did. “Sure, I’d love to,” Enjolras said eventually.

Grantaire led him up the steps, sincerely hoping that Jehan had gone to Courfeyrac’s or was at least hiding out in his room. It was dark when he opened the door to their flat, so it seemed that he was lucky.

“So... do you want tea?” Grantaire asked as he went to hang up his and Enjolras’ coats.

“Maybe later,” Enjolras replied. He didn’t even try to keep his distance anymore. Grantaire never made it to the coat rack, both their jackets ended up on the floor and Enjolras was kissing him, a lot more gently than the last time, as if he wasn’t really sure if it was alright.

It was more than alright, though, and Grantaire deepened their kiss, slowly traced Enjolras’ bottom lip with his tongue and pulled him closer until they were flush against each other. Enjolras was clutching at his back, hands fisting in Grantaire’s shirt to yank it off.

Grantaire didn’t bother to pick it up before he led Enjolras to his room, nearly tripping over shoes and knocking over a pile of books as they went.

“You know, I wasn’t...” They stumbled into his room, both very eager to get the other’s clothes off. Enjolras shut him up with a kiss. Whatever he’d wanted to say, it mustn’t have been important, because he forgot all about it when Enjolras tugged down his jeans and his boxers. Grantaire fumbled for the light switch, but Enjolras was already dragging him over to the bed, getting rid of the rest of his clothes on the way.

Grantaire came to regret not turning the lights on, he could make out Enjolras on his sheets, his pale skin and his hair that Grantaire had untied splayed over the pillow, but Grantaire wanted to see Enjolras, wanted to see what his face looked like, wanted to see every little motion, the light of the streetlights filtering in through the curtains just didn’t do.

Enjolras moaned softly when Grantaire straddled his hips and started kissing down his chest and hissed when he sucked at his nipples. Enjolras’ hand crept up the back of his neck and into his hair, a curse escaped his lips as Grantaire thrust down, their cocks rubbing against each other, his hips stuttered upwards, seeking friction.

Grantaire reached between them to take both of their cocks in hand, stroking clumsily. Enjolras’ hand was still twisted in his curls, the other one was running down Grantaire’s back and over the curve of his ass. Grantaire bit at his jaw at which Enjolras let out a whimper, he did it again and his whimpers turned into moans.

“Fuck, Grantaire... _Grantaire_.” Enjolras pushed up into his touch and Grantaire thought this might be the best night of his goddamned life, being with Enjolras, doing this to him, making him writhe and shudder.

Grantaire briefly wondered what Enjolras would sound like if he took his dick into his mouth, but he was too close to do anything like that now, but he’d hopefully get a chance to do that some other time.

Enjolras’ fingers tightened in this hair when he came, Grantaire stroked him through it before finishing off himself, his face buried in the crook of Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras was stroking his hair, very slowly, still breathing raggedly, mumbling something that Grantaire didn’t quite catch.

Grantaire rolled off Enjolras and wiped his hand on the bedsheets, then wiped off Enjolras and himself.  “I honestly didn’t think this would happen,” Grantaire whispered into the darkness. “That was okay, right? That this happened? I mean, you’re... we’re...” God, he didn’t even know what to say, he just didn’t want to fuck this up and he needed Enjolras to tell him that they weren’t moving too fast.

Enjolras hugged Grantaire to his chest. “Yes, of course it was, it was more than okay.”

“You’re going to stay, right?” Grantaire mumbled against Enjolras’ skin.

“I have a class tomorrow morning,” Enjolras said. He sounded like he was more asleep than awake, so chances were that Grantaire would get lucky. Enjolras kissed his forehead, then he was gone.

Grantaire watched him pad around the room in the darkness. “Uni isn’t too far away, you know, and if you’re the first one to take a shower in the morning, there’ll definitely be enough hot water.”

Enjolras picked something up, then Grantaire saw his phone light up. “I’m just setting my alarm,” Enjolras muttered. “You’re going to hate me tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll see,” Grantaire said and got out of bed himself. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and sat down next to his window, pushed back the curtains and opened it a crack, so he could smoke.

Enjolras slipped back under the covers, watching Grantaire smoke. The bedsheets just barely covered him and Grantaire was thinking that maybe Enjolras was doing that on purpose. He hadn’t even smoked half of his cigarette when he stubbed it out to join Enjolras in his bed.

Enjolras’ alarm went off at 7 o’clock the next morning. Grantaire did hate him. But only a little bit.

 “Mercy,” Grantaire groaned and made an attempt at burying himself under pillows and bedsheets. He felt Enjolras stir next to him, then the alarm was turned off. He grinned into the pillow. Last night had really happened, Enjolras was right beside him.

“Just go back to sleep,” Enjolras said and planted a kiss on his shoulder blade.

Grantaire hummed quietly. He was actually too lazy to open his eyes, although he was sure he’d be missing out on a beautiful sight if he didn’t. He turned around and cracked one eye open. Enjolras’ hair was all over the place, he looked tired, but he was smiling. “Good morning.”

Enjolras sat up. “Good morning.”

“Don’t get up yet,” Grantaire grumbled and tried to pull Enjolras back down. “It’s too early for being awake.”

“I really have to get going,” Enjolras protested and wriggled out of his grasp. “You can come take a shower with me if you want to,” he added as he hopped out of bed.

“You’re evil,” Grantaire mumbled into the pillow, but eventually dragged himself out of bed to follow Enjolras to the bathroom.

They were in the kitchen a while later, Enjolras checking the news on his phone, leaning against Grantaire, who was making breakfast, when Jehan came walking in. Grantaire waved at him cheerfully, Enjolras tried to hide behind his phone, his face as red as a tomato.

“Good morning,” Jehan chirped and took Grantaire’s cup of coffee with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind, _someone_ woke me up in the middle of the night,” he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door again.

Grantaire felt Enjolras bury his head in his hair. “Oh my god,” he whined.

“He’ll live,” Grantaire said and flipped a pancake. Jehan didn’t actually mind, he was just teasing, he probably hadn’t even been asleep yet.

“But I won’t,” Enjolras muttered into Grantaire’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, actually I was going to end it here but I really like writing this fic (and I always want to know what happens after they get together when I read fic) so I thought I might add two or three more chapters. Just think of it as a massive epilogue.


	12. Chapter 12

“I found this by the door,” Jehan said cheerfully and flung his shirt at him. “Now, I’m trying not to be nosy,” he continued, “but it _sounded_ like you guys were having a pretty good time.”

“Give me a minute,” Grantaire said and let himself fall onto the sofa. He actually needed more than a minute, a minute really wouldn’t cut it, he probably needed at least a year to process all of this.

Jehan sat down next to him, waiting patiently, redoing his braid over and over again until Grantaire felt almost hypnotised from watching him.

“So,” he started, smiling at how Jehan immediately leaned closer, “I guess I’m dating Enjolras?”

“It’s about damn time if you ask me,” Jehan said with a shrug.

“We’re going out again this weekend,” Grantaire mumbled, more to himself than to Jehan. Enjolras had kissed him goodbye only a few minutes ago, and he’d promised to call later on so they could make plans for Friday.

Jehan kissed him on the forehead. “I’m happy for you,” he said, “now tell me about the sex.”

* * *

Enjolras wasn’t even surprised when he found Courfeyrac on their sofa when he came home after his classes in the evening. “Enjolras, your first date and you didn’t even make it home,” he almost squealed as he jumped off the sofa and hugged Enjolras tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said and patted him on the back since Courfeyrac didn’t seem to want to let go of him. “You can stop hugging me now.”

“No, I can’t,” Courfeyrac said with a frightening sing-song voice.

“’Ferre?” Enjolras called, hoping he was home and hadn’t gone out and left him at the mercy of Courfeyrac, “I need help.”

Combeferre poked his head out of the kitchen. His glasses were foggy and his hair was sticking up. “Yes?”

“Tell him to stop,” Enjolras said pleadingly and tried to wriggle out of Courfeyrac’s grasp

“Courfeyrac...,” Combeferre started, making perfect use of his annoyed teacher tone.

Courfeyrac swivelled them around, so he was facing Combeferre. “Oh, come on, aren’t you proud of him for finally getting his shit together?”

“I am, but I don’t feel the need to crush him to death,” Combeferre said and vanished without another word.

“Fine then,” Courfeyrac said and let go of him. “How’s everything going?”

Things were going well, and that was an understatement. Even more surprisingly, things kept going well. Enjolras took Grantaire to an art exhibition he thought he’d like the following Friday. Grantaire didn’t tell him until a few days later that he’d already been there twice. They went to the cinema on Saturday, then they went out for coffee, Grantaire showed up at his door with ice cream one day, Enjolras picked him up for an impromptu trip to the theatre.

Grantaire still came to their meetings at the Musain, and he still argued with Enjolras on pretty much everything, but afterwards they always went home together, hand in hand. The rest of the week, it was strangely easy not to argue, of course they kept bickering about the tiniest things, but those were easy enough to forget.

Quite frankly, Enjolras was starting to grow a bit uneasy. At some point something was bound to go wrong, and sure, he felt stupid for waiting for it, Combeferre had even told him that he was stupid for even thinking something like that, but still, he was new at this, he always felt like he was about to do something that made Grantaire realise that Enjolras actually wasn’t the kind of person he wanted to be with.

Enjolras was very well aware of his flaws, he knew he could be pedantic, he knew he was impatient at times, he knew that he got angry too easily. He was trying to work on it, though, especially around Grantaire.

When he got a phone call at one in the morning one Friday night, however, he forgot all about trying not to get too angry about little things. “What?” he snapped, not even checking who was calling him.

“Hey Enjolras, it’s Bahorel,” came the reply. “Listen, I’m sorry to call this late, but I need someone to pick up Grantaire, I’d take him home myself, but we don’t close until an hour from now and he really isn’t doing too well...”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a bit,” he said curtly and hung up. He pulled on a pair of jeans and the green jumper that Grantaire seemed to be forgetting at his place and tried his hardest not to stomp to the door, because he didn’t want to wake up Combeferre.

He called a cab and went to wait outside in the cold, fuming. Grantaire had told him that he’d go out with Courfeyrac and Enjolras had thought nothing of it, he’d even asked if he wanted to come, but Enjolras had a paper to work on and exams to study for, so he’d spent most of the evening at the library.

When he eventually made it to the Corinthe, he found Grantaire slumped over the bar, Courfeyrac was nowhere in sight, Bahorel only shot him an apologetic look.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound as pissed off as he felt, but failing. “Grantaire,” he repeated, louder this time.

Grantaire looked up and blinked at him. “What... what’re you doin’ ‘ere?”

“I’m picking you up,” he said, and grabbed him by the arm, “where the hell is Courfeyrac?”

“Went to see Jehan,” Grantaire slurred and stumbled off the barstool, leaning heavily against Enjolras.

“And he just left you here?” He’d have words with Courfeyrac about that.

“’m fine.” Grantaire buried his head in the crook of Enjolras neck, nuzzling him almost gently.

“You’re really not,” Enjolras said harshly and slowly pushed Grantaire outside. “Damn it, Grantaire, did you really have to overdo it like that?”

Grantaire’s arms closed around his waist. “Don’ be mad,” he muttered.

Enjolras sighed. “I’m not.” God, he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Yeah, you... sound mad.” Grantaire stumbled, although they weren’t even moving.

Enjolras hailed another cab, tugged Grantaire inside with him, hoping he’d be alright for the time being. He really didn’t have the nerve to deal with a pissed off cabbie. Luckily, Grantaire fell asleep almost instantly and didn’t make a sound until Enjolras woke him up.

He guided Grantaire upstairs, which proved a lot more difficult than he’d thought. “I don’t live here,” Grantaire muttered when they were halfway up the stairs, looking around with a confused expression.

“I know, but I do,” Enjolras clarified.

“Right,” Grantaire drawled and stumbled up the rest of the staircase noisily.

Enjolras managed to drag Grantaire into his room without any major problems, although Grantaire nearly didn’t manage to get his shoes off.

Grantaire was still slumped against him when Enjolras quietly shut the door. “’m really, really, really sorry,” Grantaire muttered into his jumper.

“It’s okay, let’s just get you into bed, alright?”

Grantaire was pretty much compliant from then on and curled up in Enjolras’ bed only a few minutes later.

Enjolras joined him not too much later, watching him in the soft light that was filtering in through the curtains for a long while. Grantaire murmured something in his sleep and burrowed closer, into Enjolras’ arms. He smelt like cigarette smoke and beer, but Enjolras didn’t push him away, if anything, he only held him tighter.

When he woke up in the morning, he was still holding Grantaire. He didn’t even move an inch, but Grantaire stirred in his arms. “You awake?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I am,” Enjolras confirmed.

“I’m very embarrassed and very sorry,” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’ shirt. “Please tell me you don’t hate me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I don’t hate you,” Enjolras said and kissed his hair.

“It’ll never happen again, I promise,” Grantaire said. “I was drawing stuff for people after Courfeyrac was gone and since I wasn’t working they bought me drinks instead of giving me tips, I think I might have had a bit too much.”

“A bit,” Enjolras agreed sourly.

“I’m really sorry,” Grantaire said again. “I’ll make you breakfast, okay?”

“Pancakes?” Enjolras asked hopefully.

“Anything you want.”

* * *

Grantaire was pretty sure that he’d never tire of the sight of Enjolras lying in his bed, sleeping soundly, fingers curled around Grantaire’s. It was around three in the morning and Grantaire was very, very desperately trying to go to sleep, but his mind kept coming up with the silliest things that kept him awake.

He’d been fine mostly, watching Enjolras in his sleep, which was probably a little creepy, but hey, there was nothing else to pass the time with. Usually he’d start painting and pass out in the early hours of the morning, his clothes stained and a new painting propped up on the easel next to his bed, but he couldn’t do that now, not with Enjolras here.

He’d feared that something like this would happen, that he’d somehow have to explain to Enjolras why he couldn’t sleep at night, sometimes for days on end, even though there really wasn’t a good explanation except that, well, he just _couldn’t_ , no matter how hard he tried.

Thinking of nothing didn’t work, his mind just kept running in circles, thinking of Enjolras didn’t work either, because he always kept coming up with even worse things. Grantaire carefully pried Enjolras’ fingers off his hand, tugged up the sheets so Enjolras wouldn’t be cold, then he slid out of bed, almost noiselessly, and pulled on the clothes Enjolras had rid him off only a few hours ago.

He hadn’t expected Enjolras to show up, it was nearly Christmas, he had a couple of exams coming up and he’d been busy studying. He’d probably just needed a break and Grantaire had been really happy to see him.

He sighed and grabbed his sketchbook and a couple of pencils and wandered into the living room, where he made himself comfortable on the sofa.

He flicked through it at first, lingering on the pages with his first drawings of Enjolras, then he started a new one. He didn’t even realise Enjolras was watching him until he cleared his throat.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, turning to look at Enjolras. “Hey there.”

“What are you doing?” Enjolras whispered and padded over to the sofa. He was wearing boxers and one of Grantaire’s old shirts, God knows where he’d found that one.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Grantaire mumbled and slowly closed his sketchbook. “Just go back to bed.” The last thing he wanted was to keep Enjolras awake as well.

Enjolras sat down at his feet. “What about you?”

Grantaire nervously ran his fingers through his curls. “I’ll... I don’t think I can... remember when I told you that sometimes I just...” He shook his head, clutching his sketchbook.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Enjolras asked quietly.

“No, that’s not it,” Grantaire said quickly. “I just didn’t want to wake you up, so I left.”

Enjolras nodded and settled between Grantaire’s legs, his head resting on Grantaire’s stomach. “Wake me up if you want to go back to bed,” he mumbled.

Grantaire gently stroked his hair for a while until he was breathing deeply and evenly again, wondering if it could really be that easy or if he was in for a more serious talk the next morning, then he nearly dislocated his shoulder when he tried to grab a blanket to wrap around Enjolras. He let out a pained hiss, but eventually managed to tuck him in.

Enjolras hummed and his eyes fluttered open again. “Grantaire,” he whispered, playing with the hem of Grantaire’s shirt. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Grantaire said and caught Enjolras’ hand in his.

“’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Enjolras muttered sleepily, “I just thought you might want to.”

“I do,” Grantaire sighed. “I just keep thinking about stuff, you know, and I can’t turn it off and then I start to feel really uneasy and I... I just can’t sleep, I don’t know.”

“What kind of stuff?” Enjolras mumbled into his shirt.

“You know, just... stuff. About art school and life and death and you and me and whatever.”

“That’s a lot of stuff.” Enjolras turned over, so he could look up at Grantaire. “Why are you worried about you and me?”

He could tell the truth, that’s what relationships are about, about telling each other the truth, but he wasn’t quite sure how to word it. Grantaire took a deep breath. “I just don’t understand why you would like someone like me. I mean, we’re so different. You’re...” So much better in every single way, so much smarter, so much more handsome, everything Grantaire would never be. Enjolras didn’t fuck things up on a regular basis.

Enjolras was still looking up at him, his blue eyes wide. “Do you really want me to tell you all the reasons why I like you, because that might take a while,” he said seriously.

Grantaire snorted. God, it was pathetic how much he _did_ want him to. “No, maybe some other time, though.”

“Sure.” Enjolras nodded, as if he’d just agreed to some kind of challenge.

“You’re ridiculous,” Grantaire mumbled.

“I really would, you know,” Enjolras said, never breaking eye contact with Grantaire. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve been, you know... doing this for very long, but I think we’re doing pretty well, considering that we nearly rip each other’s heads off once a week or so.”

Grantaire smiled down at him. “I think you’re right.” He picked up his sketchbook from the table. “I just want to finish this one thing, okay?”

“Take your time,” Enjolras said as he made himself comfortable again.

Grantaire was too busy drawing to realise that Enjolras actually hadn’t gone back to sleep.

“It’s Christmas soon,” Enjolras mumbled all of a sudden. “Are you going home?”

Grantaire put down his pencil. His family was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. Actually, his family was never a good thing to talk about. “No.”

“You could come to my place,” Enjolras said so quietly that Grantaire almost didn’t catch it. “I’m not going home either.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Grantaire said and kept drawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to part one of the supermassive epilogue.  
> I'm not sure what exactly is going to happen next, but I suppose it'll be Christmas. (I'm pretty sure that I mentioned that Enjolras is supposed to go to his cousin's wedding at some point, so I might write about that as well.)


	13. Chapter 13

“How did all these people even end up in my flat?” Enjolras said slowly, his voice low, so only Grantaire could hear.

Well, Grantaire wasn’t really sure if he had a good explanation, he wasn’t even sure if it was actually his fault that all these people had ended up here. Enjolras was acting like he’d brought them all along, when in fact he’d only brought Jehan.

That, of course, had been entirely his fault.

* * *

“Grantaire, do you know where we put our _It’s a Wonderful Life_ DVD?” Jehan asked him. He was sitting on the floor next to their DVD shelf. “We need it for Christmas.”

“Are you going to watch it with Courf?” Grantaire was lounging on the sofa, trying to finish the project he had to hand in the next day. His fingers were stained with charcoal and he was pretty sure that he’d got some on his face as well.

“I’m going to watch it with you, dumbass,” Jehan replied, suddenly appearing behind his shoulder. “Like we do every year,” he added, his chin resting on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Is that the Musain?”

“It is,” Grantaire confirmed. “I thought you were spending Christmas with Courfeyrac.” He’d somehow assumed that this was the case and had agreed to go to Enjolras’ for Christmas, but now he was feeling  a little guilty because he hadn’t taken Jehan into consideration.

“He’s going to Ireland to visit his uncle and aunt, because his parents are on a cruise, he booked the flight a while ago,” Jehan said and moved away to sit down in an armchair. Grantaire looked up and saw that Jehan was beaming at him. “Enjolras invited you over, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, chewing at his bottom lip. “But you know what, you should come have dinner with us.”

“No, I really shouldn’t,” Jehan said firmly.

“Enjolras won’t mind and you being there might keep us from fighting.” He was actually a little scared of spending that much time with Enjolras, they’d probably get into a fight about what films to watch and about who got to cook, hell, they’d already got into a fight about whether they should get each other presents or not.

Jehan snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’ll manage without me.”

“Well, I don’t want you to sit around here all alone,” Grantaire grumbled and brushed a few stray curls aside, leaving dark streaks on his forehead. “So, unless you really don’t want to, you’re coming.”

Enjolras didn’t seem angry when Grantaire told him, only said Grantaire would have to make more food.

The next day, Grantaire ran into Bahorel at the gym, they started talking about their plans for the holidays and Bahorel mentioned that he’d celebrate Christmas with a sixpack of beer and a frozen pizza, because he actually didn’t care all that much about it, so Grantaire invited him to come to Enjolras’ together with him and Jehan. Even though he didn’t like Christmas, he could at least have a better dinner than a frozen pizza.

Okay, so maybe Bahorel being there was his fault, too.

Jehan took Courfeyrac to the airport on the morning of the 23rd, where they learnt that Courfeyrac’s flight had been cancelled due to heavy snowfall and that it might take a couple of days until he could leave. He didn’t even try to find another way to get there, he just went home with Jehan and stayed there until they left to have dinner at Enjolras’.

Fine, so maybe Courfeyrac had arrived with him, but it really wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t managed to get to Ireland.

When the three of them got to Enjolras’ on Christmas Eve, Combeferre opened the door for them. “Looks like I’ll join you for dinner as well, apparently all train services are suspended for the time being.”

“Snow?” Courfeyrac asked with a grin and handed Combeferre two bottles of wine.

“Yes, looks like we’re stuck here.” Combeferre didn’t seem to be too sad about it, though.

“Where’s Enjolras?” Grantaire asked and shut the door.

Combeferre glanced at the open kitchen door, then he turned to Grantaire. “He’s baking cookies,” he whispered.

“Why aren’t you baking cookies, ‘Ferre, at least those would be edible,” Courfeyrac said loudly, which earned him a playful slap from Jehan.

“Shut up,” Enjolras called from the kitchen before he appeared in the doorway. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Ireland?”

Courfeyray shook his head and let himself fall onto the couch. “Snow,” he only said and giggled when Jehan dropped on top of him with a squeal.

Enjolras disappeared again, Grantaire and Combeferre followed him, leaving Courfeyrac and Jehan in the living room.

“I got some more food, there should be enough to make dinner for all of us,” Combeferre said to Grantaire.

Grantaire nodded. “At least I don’t have to cook dinner on my own now,” he said, grinning at Enjolras, who was kneeling in front of the oven, checking on his cookies.

“I would have helped,” Enjolras said, sulking.

“I know.” Grantaire ruffled his hair and pulled him to his feet, so he could give him a kiss.

Grantaire and Combeferre started making dinner, Enjolras didn’t leave until there was a knock on the door. Grantaire heard Bahorel great everyone noisily before he showed up in the kitchen with Feuilly in tow. “Look who I ran into when I did some last minute shopping,” Bahorel said and gave Feuilly a pat on the back that had him stumbling forward a step.

Not more than half an hour later there was another knock on the door and Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta came walking in. “We come bearing gifts,” Musichetta said as she joined Grantaire and Combeferre in the kitchen and put a casserole on the counter.

Joly and Bossuet squeezed into the kitchen as well to say hello and to get a wine opener for the bottle Joly was carrying. “Courfeyrac told us that we were all having dinner here,” Bossuet said happily.

Well, at least those three showing up wasn’t Grantaire’s fault.

* * *

Enjolras had been looking forward to a nice, quiet evening with Grantaire. And sure, so far the evening had been very nice, they’d all had dinner together, everyone had tried his cookies and they’d agreed that they weren’t as horrible as they could have turned out. Now there were several empty bottles of beer and wine on the table. Enjolras head was swimming because Joly had talked him into having a glass of wine and then another and then he’d accidentally finished Grantaire’s.

Grantaire himself seemed to be doing a lot better than Enjolras, Courfeyrac was cackling because Joly, who seemed to be in very high spirits, kept telling him jokes. Bahorel and Feuilly were both silently nursing their beers, Jehan and Combeferre were sitting on the floor on a pile of pillows and blankets and were having a whispered conversation, but Enjolras could see that Combeferre had had more than enough wine already, because he kept giggling, which he really only did when he was drunk.

There was another knock on the door just when Jehan was putting in a DVD he’d brought, and Bossuet nearly stumbled over his own feet when he ran to open the door, although Enjolras wasn’t sure if he’d stumbled because he was drunk or because of his usual lack of control over his own limbs.

Marius and Cosette came in once Bossuet had yanked open the door. Enjolras didn’t even question why they knew that everyone was at his flat. Both of them were covered in melting snowflakes, Cosette was carrying a tray, which turned out to be full of cupcakes. “We had dinner with my dad,” she explained as she set them down on the table, “he said I could take these and he told me to wish you all a Merry Christmas.”

“Marius, you don’t look like you had such a good time,” Courfeyrac chipped in, grinning at Marius.

“Oh, he’s still scared of my dad,” Cosette said nonchalantly and dropped down on the floor next to Combeferre.

“He _is_ scary,” Marius said as he sat down next to her. “You guys don’t know him, but if you did-”

“I actually do know him,” Grantaire cut in, grinning smugly, “he’s such a sweet old man.”

“Couldn’t hurt a fly,” Courfeyrac said, shaking his head.

“He’s been to prison,” Marius wailed.

“So have half of us, actually,” Bahorel said and handed Marius a bottle of beer. “Here, that’ll help you recover.”

“Can I start the film now?” Jehan asked impatiently.

“Go ahead, love,” Courfeyrac called.

Grantaire slowly crawled into Enjolras’ lap, making himself comfortable. Enjolras wrapped his arms around him to pull him closer.

“Hey Jehan, turn the lights on the tree on while you’re at it,” Musichetta said when Jehan got up to join Courfeyrac on the sofa.

“You mean Enjolras’ excuse of a Christmas tree?” Cosette asked, pursing her lips.

“Don’t insult my tree,” Enjolras called, “I put a lot of work into it okay.”

“Did you cut it down all by yourself?” Bahorel asked.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Let’s just watch the film.”

Courfeyrac grabbed the remote, pressed play and kissed the tip of Jehan’s nose, when he finally sat down next to him.

“I like your tree,” Grantaire whispered to him and nipped at his earlobe. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras whispered back and nudged him with his nose. He was glad that Grantaire seemed to be doing better, he’d had a pretty rough time lately, and Enjolras hadn’t been quite sure how exactly to deal with it, he’d just tried his hardest to be there and to be patient.

Grantaire was starting to get heavy after a while, but Enjolras wasn’t willing to let go of him. Grantaire shifted on top of him, then once again, before he started kissing and sucking at his neck, one hand tangled loosely in his curls.

Enjolras’ face was starting to feel hot, Grantaire shifted again, only minimally, but Enjolras was starting to get the notion that Grantaire might be doing this on purpose. He started tracing the outline of Enjolras’ ribs, very slowly and gently, it was only when Grantaire thumbed over one of his nipples, that Enjolras was absolutely certain that he was deliberately teasing him.

Grantaire rocked against him very lightly, his fingers tightening in Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras had stopped paying attention to the film a very, very long time ago. When Grantaire moved to get up, he couldn’t really feel his legs anymore, but still tried to wobble after Grantaire when he pulled him off the sofa.

No one really paid them any mind as Grantaire dragged Enjolras into the kitchen. He pulled him into a kiss as soon as they were out of sight. “I wish I could have you right here against the counter,” Grantaire mumbled and palmed Enjolras’ hardening cock through his jeans. Then his fingers were tugging at Enjolras’ hair insistently, and Enjolras tilted his head back, moaning softly when Grantaire’s teeth grazed over his skin.

Enjolras was inclined to tell Grantaire to close the door and do however he pleased, but their friends were just outside and they’d know exactly what was going, especially because there was no way that Enjolras could keep quiet, and even though he was desperate for Grantaire to touch every inch of his body, he still pushed him away.

His hand was still clutching at Grantaire’s shirt, but he kept him an arm’s length away, smiling at how dishevelled Grantaire looked. Grantaire smiled back at him, a little out of breath. “Later,” he said quietly.

Enjolras nodded and peered outside the door, where their friends were all watching the movie. “How did all these people even end up in my flat?” he asked, looking at Grantaire helplessly.

Grantaire shrugged and kissed him chastely. “Not my fault,” he whispered.

“At least half of them are here because of you,” Enjolras muttered and kissed him in return.

“I know that wasn’t what you had in mind when you invited me over.” Grantaire hugged him, fitting neatly right under Enjolras’ chin. “I just didn’t want Jehan to be alone for Christmas and things sort of... escalated from there.”

Enjolras kissed his hair. “Don’t worry about it.” They’d have more than enough time later on.

* * *

Grantaire woke up with Enjolras still fast asleep next to him, breathing quietly. He’d developed a liking for Enjolras when he was asleep, because he never seemed so at ease when he was awake, there was always something Enjolras needed take care of, always something that demanded his attention.

He took Enjolras’ hand, thumb lightly stroking over his skin, and Enjolras sighed contently in his sleep.

Grantaire sat up, let go of Enjolras and walked over to the window to find that everything was covered under a thick layer of snow. He smiled, wondering if he’d get Enjolras to take a walk with him later on.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras mumbled.

Grantaire looked at him over his shoulder. “Just... looking.”

Enjolras hummed. “Me too,” he said, grinning broadly.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the view,” Grantaire mused, wondering if he should keep parading around naked just for the sake of Enjolras’ amusement.

Enjolras held out his hand to Grantaire. “Come back.”

“No, you have to get up, I want to give you your present. Preferably in close proximity of your marvellous Christmas tree, so we should probably get dressed, because I don’t want Combeferre to hate us for the rest of eternity.”

Enjolras frowned at him. “We said no presents.”

“I know,” Grantaire said with a shrug, and pulled on his boxers and a shirt, “it’s nothing special, I just thought of you when I saw it, so I _had_ to buy it for you.” He grinned sheepishly, asking himself how much exactly Enjolras would hate him for that present.

“Well,” Enjolras mumbled, “I might have got something for you as well.”

Grantaire jumped back up on the bed and pinned Enjolras down.  “You broke your own no presents rule.”

“I guess I did,” Enjolras said, smiling up at him.

Grantaire shook his head. “Outrageous.”

He went to brush his teeth, waited for Enjolras as he did the same and put on a shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms, then he grabbed the two pairs of antlers he’d brought.

“You’re not putting that on my head,” Enjolras said, pointing at the antlers.

“Please?” Grantaire took a step closer. “For me?” he said, batting his eyelashes at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes and let Grantaire put the antlers on his head.

“Is that your present?” Enjolras asked, trying to look grumpy.

“No,” Grantaire replied and took the actual present out of his bag. “This is.”

Enjolras eyed it suspiciously, then he opened a drawer and grabbed a neatly wrapped present. “Let’s go.”

Combeferre apparently wasn’t awake yet, their living room was still littered with empty bottles and dirty plates. They sat down in front of the Christmas tree and Grantaire handed over his present. “You open yours first.”

 Enjolras didn’t rip it open, he slowly peeled off the wrapping paper, staring down at the quite possibly ugliest jumper this world had ever seen. It was red and had little snowflakes and Christmas trees and a gigantic reindeer with a big red nose on it. “You got me an ugly Christmas jumper,” Enjolras said, almost sounding fond.

“I did,” Grantaire confirmed, “I actually couldn’t stop imagining your face when I made you wear it.”

Enjolras snorted. “I’m going to take the antlers off,” he said, but immediately pulled on the jumper. It was a little big on him, but Grantaire doubted that he’d ever wear it outside of his flat anyway. “Thank you,” Enjolras said and leaned over to kiss him. “My present actually seems really boring now.”

He handed it over, watching as Grantaire unwrapped it. It was a leather bound sketchbook, not unlike the one he already had. “It looked like you were running out of pages in the other one, so I thought you could use a new one.”

Grantaire actually hadn’t thought Enjolras had noticed, and even though Enjolras seemed to think his present was _boring_ , even though it might be the obvious choice, Grantaire still couldn’t be happier about it. Before he could thank Enjolras, he’d leaned in close to whisper in Grantaire’s ear. “Open it.”

Grantaire did and found a drawing of two stickmen sitting in front of a Christmas tree, _Merry Christmas_ was written under it in neat letters. “Enjolras...” Grantaire mumbled, “this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever given me, I’m not kidding.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras said and shoved him playfully.

“No, I’m serious. You have the drawing skills of a five-year-old and the fact that you chose to share that with me is the cutest thing ever.”

“Don’t ever show that to anyone,” Enjolras whispered.

Grantaire shook his head. “I won’t.” He tugged Enjolras closer, smiling against his lips before he kissed him.


	14. Chapter 14

“I’m going to die,” Grantaire wailed. It was a miracle that Courfeyrac and Jehan were still paying attention to him. He’d started pacing right next to the sofa, where the two of them had been busy paying attention to nothing but each other, until Grantaire had started contemplating his life choices very loudly and very persistently.

At some point Jehan they had given in and started listening to what Grantaire had been lamenting about, namely that he was about to meet Enjolras’ family and that he was in no way ready for that to happen. He didn’t do this kind of thing, he didn’t meet parents, parents hated him, Enjolras’ parents would downright despise him, he was an artist, for fuck’s sake, no one wanted their only child to go out with an artist who was good for nothing.

“But you’re a very talented artist,” Jehan said, when Grantaire had voiced his doubts.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac said, shrugging, “I wouldn’t be worried about the fact that you’re an artist, you should worry about the fact that you’re a man.”

Grantaire sighed. “Yeah, great, thanks for giving me another thing to worry about, you dick.”

Jehan laughed and grabbed him by the arm to yank him down on the sofa. “It’ll be fine, Enjolras’ parents know that he’s gay, they’re well aware that you’re a guy.”

“Yeah, they’re just not very happy with you being a guy,” Courfeyrac said and patted him on the back. “I’m joking,” he added, when he saw Grantaire’s expression of absolute horror, “it’s not like they haven’t known for years.”

“I’m going to die,” Grantaire said again, at least fifty percent more sure about it than before. “Have you guys ever met his parents?”

“I actually met his dad like two years ago, he’s... you know, just a dad.”

“That was really helpful, Courf,” Jehan muttered.

Courfeyrac giggled. “I do what I can.”

Grantaire sighed deeply. What he really wanted to do right now was have a drink, or maybe several, smoke a cigarette and then crawl into bed and never ever resurface. Grantaire knew he should have said no when Enjolras had asked him to come to his cousin’s wedding, and surely, it had taken a lot of convincing, but Enjolras had been so happy when Grantaire had finally agreed to come with him, it had almost seemed like it was worth it.

He wasn’t even been sure why Enjolras had wanted him to come in the first place, Grantaire was far from an ideal boyfriend in any case, there was no way Enjolras’ parents were going to like him and Enjolras would regret taking him. For sure.

* * *

“Please stop fidgeting.” Enjolras was feeling anxious enough already, Grantaire’s nervousness didn’t help one bit.

They were on the train on their way to his cousin’s wedding, Grantaire was having his fourth coffee, Enjolras was having his fifth, Grantaire kept moving around in his seat, was tapping his foot restlessly, and kept tugging his fingers through his curls. Enjolras had tried to sleep at first, but Grantaire was keeping him awake quite successfully.

After a while Enjolras took his hand, hoping it would somehow calm them both down. He’d never taken anyone to meet his parents, not that there had ever been anyone he’d wanted them to meet.

And at first he hadn’t even wanted to ask Grantaire to come, because really, he didn’t want to put anyone through the experience of meeting his parents, let alone his whole family at once. The possibility that he might not have to sit through this weeding alone, but with Grantaire beside him, was way too appealing to him, so he’d eventually brought it up.

“Is it too late to go back?” Grantaire asked, scratching at his wrist absent-mindedly.

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire looked a little too pale, a little too tired, and Enjolras suddenly felt like he was putting him through hell. “I’m sorry for talking you into coming.”

“I’m just nervous because I’m pretty convinced that everyone’s going to hate me, which means in the end you’re probably going to hate me, too,” Grantaire said bluntly.

“No one’s going to hate you.” His sexual orientation had never been too much of a problem, of course his mother had thrown a fit at first, his father had been uncharacteristically silent for a couple of days, but other than that no one had made an issue out of it. The reason for that was probably because they hadn’t wanted to neighbours to find out. “They don’t care that I’m bringing a guy, I told you. The only reason they’re cross with me is that I’ve been arrested one too many times.”

“I know,” Grantaire grumbled and leaned against him, face burrowing into his upper arm. “They’re going to think that I’m not good enough for you.” It was barely a whisper, muffled by Enjolras’ shirt. Maybe Grantaire hadn’t even wanted him to hear.

“You are.” It was the only thing he could think of saying. Who cared what his parents thought about his boyfriend, they didn’t get to decide who he wanted to be with. “They don’t have a say in that anyway.”

Grantaire grumbled something unintelligible, then he looked up. “How much longer until we’re there?”

“’Bout an hour, I guess.” They were going to his aunt’s, who lived just outside the small village, where the wedding would be held. Enjolras hadn’t been there in a couple of years, but he remembered the huge mansion well enough, the huge staircase, the long hallways, the excessive number of rooms, too many places to get lost in, too many ugly tapestries, too much of everything.

Grantaire trailed after him when they got off the train at their stop. His aunt had promised someone would be there to pick them up, but Enjolras couldn’t spot a familiar face anywhere around the station.

“See, maybe we should just go back home,” Grantaire mumbled, after Enjolras had been running around aimlessly for a couple of minutes.

“Shut up,” Enjolras said and kissed him thoroughly before he continued his search for someone who’d come to take them to his aunt’s.

It was cold, way too cold for March, their breath was fogging in the air and Grantaire was shivering, but didn’t utter a word of complaint. Enjolras tugged off his scarf and wrapped it around Grantaire, who gave him a grateful smile.

Enjolras was starting to consider calling cab, when a familiar black car pulled up next to the station.

* * *

An old man climbed out of the car, smiling at them happily. His clothes were just as caked in mud as the car. “Sorry boys, we had a bit of an emergency at the house,” he called as he started walking towards them.

“That’s Albert, he’s the caretaker at my aunt’s house,” Enjolras said to Grantaire and grabbed him by the arm.

“Caretaker?” Grantaire asked, briefly wondering how rich Enjolras’ family was exactly.

Enjolras shrugged. “It’s a big house,” he whispered, then he went to greet Albert and quickly introduced Grantaire.

Their bags were stowed in the boot next to a couple of shovels and buckets and Albert ushered them both into the backseat. “Well, Grantaire,” Albert said as he started the car, “everyone’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“That’s... nice,” Grantaire choked out. He just wanted to go back home and hide in his bed forever, he didn’t belong here, he didn’t belong with a guy whose family owned a house that was big enough for a caretaker to be needed.

“No need to be nervous, lad.” Albert navigated the car through the narrow streets of the small town, pointing out the oldest shop there, the church the wedding would be held at the next day, his favourite pub, and so on, until they’d reached the outskirts of the town and were passing fields and woodland.

Enjolras shifted in his seat and leaned over to Grantaire. “That’s it,” he said, pointing out the window at an old country mansion, covered in ranks of ivy. It was even bigger than Grantaire had dared to imagine.

Grantaire was lost for words for a few seconds. “It’s massive,” he said, stating the obvious.

“I can confirm that,” Albert piped up, “and I would know, I’ve been working here for over forty years. I’ve known Enjolras here every since he first showed up here.”

Enjolras snorted. “Please don’t tell him about the time I got lost in the basement.”

“You got lost in the basement?” Grantaire whispered, doing a very bad job at trying to stifle his laughter.

“I was five and I was terrified, stop laughing.”

Grantaire laughed even harder when Enjolras made his kicked puppy face.

Albert took them to the house and quickly vanished with their bags, while Enjolras introduced Grantaire to his aunt, his cousin and his future wife, who were all exceptionally lovely and polite, which made Grantaire feel even more uneasy, because this couldn’t possibly go well for him.

Enjolras’ aunt, Louise, led them up the stairs. “We’re so glad Enjolras finally brought someone. Not that he comes to see us a lot,” Louise said and patted Grantaire on the arm. “Still, we were starting to get worried.” She smiled at Enjolras, who’d huffed impatiently. “Well, why don’t you two go take a look at your room, Enjolras, dear, you remember which one, right?” She squeezed Grantaire’s arm. “It’s a lovely room, really. And be sure to let me know if you need anything.”

“Sure, thanks, are you going to give back Grantaire or do I have to pry you off of him?” Enjolras asked dryly.

“Don’t be silly,” Louise said and let go of Grantaire’s arm. “I’ll let you know when your parents are here, Enjolras. By the way, are you boys going to join us for dinner?”

“I was actually thinking about taking Grantaire into town for dinner... if you don’t mind. I’m sure we’ll have enough time to catch up tomorrow.” Grantaire couldn’t help but notice how overly polite and stiff Enjolras sounded. At least to Grantaire it was pretty clear that he’d rather be somewhere else.

“Of course, I’m sure Albert will be able to give you a ride.”

Enjolras nodded, then he quickly dragged Grantaire down the hallway, Grantaire hardly had the time to look at the undoubtedly very expensive paintings. “I hope you didn’t want to have dinner with my relatives,” Enjolras muttered as he gently shoved Grantaire into a room to their left.

It looked a bit like Grantaire imagined the presidential suite in an old hotel, everything looked like it cost more money than Grantaire had ever made in his entire life, and when he looked outside the window, he could see a neatly kept garden. “I’ve meant to ask you for a while,” Grantaire said when Enjolras had closed the door, “how rich _exactly_ is your family?”

Enjolras threw himself onto the bed and mumbled into the sheets. “Rich enough to buy a bed that’s so comfortable that you never want to get up again.”

Grantaire laid down next to Enjolras, his cold fingers slowly sneaking under Enjolras’ shirt. “Interesting.”

“They’re ridiculously rich.” Enjolras turned so he could glimpse at Grantaire, most of his face obscured by his hair. “It’s not like I regularly look at their bank statements, but they could do a lot of good with the money they have. I had to promise not to mention anything to do with that this weekend, though, just so you know.” He hummed when Grantaire’s fingers lightly scratched down his back. “We’ll find other things to argue about, I’m sure,” he added after a while.

Grantaire chuckled, his hand stilled, but he didn’t move it away. “I never had a lot of money, but if I did I’d just give it to random people and...” He saw that Enjolras was grinning at him, and he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d said to make him look so smug. “What?”

“Remember when you told me that everything I do is useless, because it won’t do any good anyway?” Enjolras asked, his arm sneaking around Grantaire’s waist. “But obviously you’re not entirely opposed to helping people.”

“That’s different,” Grantaire mumbled defensively. He really wasn’t in the mood for an argument right now, he still remembered the last one they’d had all too well.

He couldn’t quite recall what it had been about, but the result had been that Enjolras had slept on the sofa and had left before Grantaire had even crawled out of bed the next morning. Grantaire had gone to visit Eponine at work, had spent the entire day at the coffee shop with her, even helping out every now and then, and doodling on napkins for strangers, and had found Enjolras already waiting in his room in the evening when he’d got home.

Jehan had later on apologised for just letting him in, but Grantaire had told him not to worry about it, it was how he and Enjolras worked, they fought, they made up, it wasn’t a big deal. Of course he was worried that one day neither of them would come to apologise at the end of the day, but so far they were doing alright.

Grantaire leaned in to kiss Enjolras. “We’re not going to argue this weekend,” Grantaire said firmly, “so let’s talk about the weather.”

“I think we could argue about the weather if we tried hard enough.” Enjolras huddled closer, so their noses were brushing against each other. “It’s pretty cold, though, don’t you think?”

“Yes, very cold,” Grantaire agreed and drew Enjolras closer. “Anything I can do to warm you up?”

“Oh, I could think of a couple of things,” Enjolras whispered.

And Grantaire would have loved to know what exactly those things were, they were interrupted by Albert, however, because he’d come to let them know that Enjolras’ parents were downstairs and would love for them to join them.

Grantaire suddenly remembered why he’d been so nervous for the whole train ride here.

* * *

Enjolras smirked at Grantaire, who was busy dancing with his aunt and didn’t seem to be all too happy about that particular fact. The bride had stolen Grantaire away from him to dance a long while ago and after that Louise had snatched him away, then his other aunt Emilie had insisted it was her turn.

Enjolras was busying himself with staring daggers at his mother. They’d had a bit of a row the night before, concerning Enjolras’ choice of partner, thankfully without Grantaire being present. He hadn’t thought that Grantaire would actually be right about this, but Enjolras had seen his mother’s expression when Grantaire had told her that he studied art and it had been one of complete disapproval, one that Enjolras knew all too well.

Grantaire hadn’t noticed, or at least had pretended not to. Thankfully his father had been much kinder and had asked Grantaire about his favourite artists, while Enjolras had had a talk with his mother, which had ended in an argument about not only Grantaire, but also all of the other wrong choices Enjolras had made in his life. Well, wrong in his mother’s eyes.

Usually Enjolras didn’t care much about his parents’ opinion, but when his mother implied that Enjolras would do better if he found himself a more suitable partner than Grantaire, he’d almost snapped.

At least the rest of his family seemed to love Grantaire more than they loved Enjolras, which was why they’d hardly spent more than ten minutes together today.

“It seems that he’s an excellent dancer,” his dad said, probably trying to lighten the mood.

“He is,” Enjolras agreed, eyes never leaving Grantaire. He had to admit he quite liked the view, Grantaire in a suit was definitely a sight to behold.

“Maybe you should save him from your aunt.” His father chuckled and patted Enjolras on the arm. “I’m sure he’d be thankful.”

“Victor, don’t give him ideas,” his mother grumbled.

Enjolras leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “What exactly-”

“Will you please do us all a favour and not start a fight today.” He carefully avoided looking at either of them, he’d never taken a side in this. “This is a wedding, we’re celebrating. This is uncalled for.”

Enjolras wordlessly stood up, quietly agreeing with his father, now was not the time to talk about this. He briefly thought about actually asking Grantaire to dance with him, only so he could see the look on his mother’s face, then he remembered he had two left feet, so it probably wasn’t the best idea.

He eventually found himself at the bar, sipping overly expensive champagne that was starting to make him feel a little light-headed after only a few sips. Grantaire joined him not too much later, looking at him with his head tilted. “Something wrong?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Parents,” he said sourly.

“Ah.” Grantaire nodded and took a step closer. “Do you want to go have sex in a broom closet or something?” he whispered. “Isn’t that what people do at weddings?”

“I’d lie if I said that I didn’t have the exact same idea earlier today,” Enjolras mumbled. It had taken him a lot of willpower not to get Grantaire out of his suit the second he’d first seen him wear it this morning.

Grantaire laughed and lightly tugged at Enjolras’ tie. “Enjolras, are you blushing?”

“I’m not,” Enjolras said grumpily. He was, yes, he definitely was. “Anyway, as much as I want to, it’s probably not the best idea.”

“So you’re just getting drunk instead?” Grantaire asked, eyeing Enjolras’ glass of champagne.

Enjolras shrugged. He’d noticed that Grantaire hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all day, he’d had a couple of beers at the pub the night before, and he’d snuck outside to smoke a cigarette earlier on, but that had been it. Maybe he was trying to leave a good impression. Enjolras smiled at the thought and took Grantaire’s hand.

They went back to their table not too much later, Enjolras ignoring his mother as best as he could, until she got up and dragged his father over to her sister’s table.

“Did something happen?” Grantaire asked, thumb stroking over Enjolras’ palm.

Enjolras huffed. He really didn’t want to talk about it, he was in a pretty bad mood already, even though Courfeyrac had been texting him encouragements all day, and he didn’t feel like making it even worse. “Can we talk about it later?”

“Sure, I was just-”

“Are you Grantaire?” A little girl had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, staring at Grantaire with wide eyes. Enjolras was pretty sure that she was some other cousin’s daughter, but he could be wrong. He didn’t really keep track of all the new additions to his family.

“I am,” Grantaire confirmed, smiling at her.

“My friend said you drew a dragon for her,” she said excitedly.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You did?” He didn’t remember Grantaire drawing anything for anyone all day.

“I think you were busy talking to your... um, I have no idea, actually.” He turned to the little girl again. “So, what’s your name?”

“I’m Adrianne,” she said and shook Grantaire’s hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you. And would you like me to draw a dragon for you, too, or would you prefer something else?”

Enjolras watched as Grantaire drew a unicorn for Adrianne. They were soon surrounded by other children, asking for robots and horses and aliens and all kinds of other things. Seemed like he wouldn’t have Grantaire for his own until they left.

* * *

“You know, I had no idea you were so good with kids,” Enjolras said, loosening his tie a little more.

They’d left a while after most of Enjolras’ relatives, so they’d taken a taxi to Enjolras’ aunt’s house and were now walking up the driveway. Grantaire’s feet were hurting from all the dancing, and Enjolras looked like he was ready to fall asleep on the spot.

“I’m not good with kids,” Grantaire said slowly. “No one should let me anywhere near their kids, I’m probably the worst influence on this planet.”

“Well, they all seemed happy enough,” Enjolras mused.

Grantaire was still pretty impressed with the size of it, and now he actually understood how Enjolras had managed to get lost in there. He also understood why Enjolras didn’t like it much. It was big and cold and not exactly welcoming.

They walked on in silence until Enjolras spoke again. “Do you mind if we take an earlier train back home tomorrow morning?”

Something was bothering Enjolras, Grantaire could tell, he just wasn’t sure if it was just a permanent condition when Enjolras was around his parents or if there was something else that was wrong. Grantaire was well aware that Enjolras had had some kind of argument with his mother last night, and Grantaire had a notion that it might have been about him, but Enjolras hadn’t talked about it, he’d just made a point in not letting go of Grantaire for the rest of the evening.

“Sure, we can do that,” Grantaire said, scrutinising Enjolras’ face. His expression seemed carefully blank. “Something’s wrong. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Enjolras said a little too quickly.

“Your mum doesn’t like me, does she?” He wasn’t really bothered by it, he’d been expecting it, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. “You can tell me, you know.”

“It doesn’t matter, _I_ like you, that’s what’s important.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, putting his arm around Enjolras’ waist.

“She’d probably dislike everyone, no matter who they were.”

Albert opened the door for them, smiling pleasantly and wishing them a good night. Enjolras swiftly pulled Grantaire up the stairs and into their room, already undoing Grantaire’s bowtie before he’d even slammed the door shut.

Enjolras’ fingers made quick work of the buttons of Grantaire’s shirt, his own shirt soon joined Grantaire’s on the wooden floor. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” Enjolras whispered, his breath ghosting against Grantaire’s skin, making him shiver.

Grantaire bit at Enjolras’ collarbone as way of answering. As much as he liked to look at Enjolras wearing a suit, taking it off was even more enjoyable. He let Enjolras push him down on the bed once they’d got rid of the rest of each other’s clothes, then Enjolras kissed down his neck, left a trail of kisses down his chest, and sucked bruises around his hipbones.

Grantaire moaned when Enjolras nuzzled at his thigh and planted a kiss at the base of his cock, then he withdrew, after quickly kissing him on the cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Grantaire smiled, not opening his eyes, only listening for Enjolras, who seemed to be rummaging in his bag. “Here,” Enjolras mumbled, and pushed a condom and a bottle of lube in Grantaire’s hand.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Grantaire said, cracking open an eye to look up at Enjolras, who was smiling down at him expectantly. “I have to do all the work again.”

“I like it when you do all the work,” Enjolras said, his cheeks flushing just a little more.

Grantaire sighed happily and quickly sat up to topple Enjolras over. “Do you really?” Grantaire asked and bent down to kiss him. Quite frankly, he did like doing all the work, too. He slicked a finger and started opening Enjolras up very slowly, cherishing every like whimper and every like moan.

“Can you please— oh my god, Grantaire.”

“Shh, someone’s going to hear you,” Grantaire said, curling his fingers again.

Enjolras’ hips bucked. “I don’t give a shit,” he muttered breathlessly.

“We should visit your family more often.” Grantaire smirked and sucked at the head of Enjolras’ cock before he tore open the condom packet. “You ready?”

Enjolras only nodded. His fingers settled in Grantaire’s hair, not tugging just yet, and he looked up at Grantaire through half-lidded eyes. They fluttered shut when Grantaire carefully pushed in. Grantaire moved slowly at first, settling into a lazy rhythm, pressing kisses to Enjolras’ throat and the corner of his mouth and his jawline.

He only started speeding up when Enjolras’ grip on his hair tightened, silently urging him to go faster. Enjolras moaned loudly when Grantaire found just the right angle and Grantaire shut him up with a kiss, because even though Enjolras didn’t care, Grantaire still wanted to be able to look Enjolras’ relatives in the eyes when they said goodbye the next morning.

Grantaire stroked Enjolras, not exactly in time with his thrusts, but he was pretty sure that he was too far gone to care anyway. Enjolras came with a moan that almost sounded like Grantaire’s name, Grantaire followed almost instantly, staying in place with his forehead pressed against Enjolras’ for a little while before he pulled out.

When he wanted to get up to get a towel so he could clean the both of them up, Enjolras’ arms wrapped around him, keeping him by his side. “I just wanted to...”

Enjolras only hugged him tighter, nosing along his neck. “Don’t go.”

“Fine, I’m not going anywhere,” Grantaire whispered, trying to clean up the mess they’d made with a corner of the bedsheets. “’s everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras mumbled, “everything’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, I tried to write porn again.


	15. Chapter 15

When Grantaire came bursting into his room a couple of weeks after the wedding, beaming and bouncing up and down on his bed, Enjolras was almost certain that it had something to do with a project that Grantaire had been working on for a while now. He’d refused to talk about it, had holed up in his room for days on end, but had promised Enjolras that he’d tell him once everything was finished.

“Enjolras, you have to stop reading for a minute,” Grantaire said and yanked the book he was reading from his hands. “I have news.”

Enjolras grinned. “Is it about the guy from New York?”

“How do you know about the guy from New York?” Grantaire asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You talk in your sleep,” Enjolras replied, completely serious. Actually _the guy from New York_ had got Grantaire’s phone number from him, in fact, _the guy from New York_ had been a guest at his cousin’s wedding, but Grantaire didn’t need to know that.

Enjolras had figured Grantaire wouldn’t mind if he gave the guy his phone number after he’d told Enjolras that he was looking for someone to design new advertisements for his company, which had just started expanding to the US, and that he really liked Grantaire’s style and would love to see more of his art.

“I don’t,” Grantaire said, his eyes narrowed. He really did sometimes, though, especially when he was drunk, but Enjolras thought it might be for the best if he didn’t mention that right now. He’d had his fair share of things Grantaire probably wouldn’t have said to him, had he been awake and sober. Those things were ranging from murmuring something about Jehan stealing his weed to telling Enjolras he loved him, which had been somewhat terrifying at first, especially the latter. “Anyway,” Grantaire continued, “he asked me to some designs for some campaign of his and he really liked them, so he invited me to come to New York.”

Grantaire’s eyes were glowing, Enjolras was pretty sure that he’d only seen him this excited on very few occasions. And of course he was happy for him, he was glad Grantaire got the recognition he deserved, but there was something that bothered him, too. “For how long?” Enjolras asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Oh, just for a week or two or something,” Grantaire said, looking at him suspiciously. “Why, did you think I’d stay for longer?” He poked him in the ribs. “Do you want to get rid of me?”

Enjolras grabbed him by the hips to topple him over, before Grantaire could start tickling him, which he’d taken a liking in lately, and pinned him down on the bed. “I don’t ever want to get rid of you.”

“Is that so?” Grantaire huffed out and reached up to brush Enjolras’ hair back, then Enjolras caught his hands in his.

Enjolras hummed and kissed Grantaire’s forehead. “Those will be the most miserable two weeks of my life,” Enjolras said and pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I mean, what am I going to do when there’s no one I can argue with?” He left a trail of kisses along his jaw. “It’s going to be boring as hell.”

“Right,” Grantaire whispered, “and you won’t have any reason to complain because I’m leaving my clothes all over your floor.”

“Exactly.” Enjolras planted another kiss on the tip of Grantaire’s nose. “No one’s going to eat my ice cream and then lie about it, how am I supposed to deal with that?”

“No one’s going to show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night after their shift at the bar,” Grantaire mused. He didn’t move when Enjolras let go of his hands, only let out a content sigh when Enjolras pushed up his shirt. “No one’s going to ruin your clothes with paint,” Grantaire continued, his hand settling in Enjolras’ curls, tugging hard when Enjolras nipped at his hipbone.

“No one’s going to make me watch stupid TV shows,” Enjolras muttered against his skin.

“Actually,” Grantaire said, his voice already slightly unsteady, “you’re the one who’s making _me_ watch stupid TV shows.”

God, Enjolras was really going to miss him. “Tell him you can’t go.” He kissed him firmly. “I need you here.”

Grantaire hummed. “Maybe you should just come with me.”

Enjolras looked up. “I like that idea.”

“Good,” Grantaire said and pulled him down for another kiss, his hands wandering down his back. “So, do you need to keep reading that book, or...” He trailed off, his hips rocking upwards to meet Enjolras’.

“It’ll still be here when I’m done with you,” Enjolras muttered, and sent the book flying off his bed. It landed on the floor with a thud. He had to read it for a lecture he was planning on taking, but was already rethinking that choice, because going by the quality of the book, the lecture couldn’t be all that interesting.

“Good answer,” Grantaire mumbled and tugged at Enjolras’ shirt. “So, you’re really going to come with me, yeah?”

“If I can,” Enjolras allowed. It was just a week after all, he’d manage to squeeze a little trip into his schedule, it wasn’t like he’d miss too much.

* * *

“Enjolras, tell me again why this is a good idea?” Grantaire said, as they slowly made their way down the aisle to find their seats. He hated flying. Not that he’d done a lot of flying so far, the longest flight he’d been on had been just under two hours, but anyway, it hadn’t been the most pleasant experience and he was delighted to have Enjolras beside him for the next 8 hours or so, because otherwise he’d probably have a bit of a breakdown.

He heard Enjolras chuckle behind him. “It’ll be fine.”

“You’re just saying that because you know that’s what I want to hear.” He was grateful anyhow and grabbed for Enjolras hand, just to squeeze it for a second, before Enjolras took his bag to put it into the overhead bins.

Enjolras smiled at him sympathetically. “Do you want the window seat?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said, suddenly remembering his last flight all too vividly. He’d spent it cramped between an elderly man who’d been snoring like a freight train and a guy who’d apparently thought taking his shoes off was a good idea. It really _hadn’t_ been a good idea.

Enjolras slid into the seat next to him, buckled his seatbelt and turned to Grantaire, who was probably as white a sheet by now. “What exactly are you worried about?”

Well, various things. There were so many things Grantaire was worried about, in fact, that he’d spent the last night tossing and turning in his bed, whishing he’d accepted Enjolras offer to stay at his place for the night. Grantaire had talked him into going home, though, thinking that at least one of them should get a good night’s sleep. “I, um... dying in a metal container that only stays in the air due to some kind of modern day sorcery?” Grantaire fiddled with the safety instructions for a second, then he decided that he really wasn’t in the mood to read about what to do in case of his imminent death.

Enjolras interlaced their fingers. “See, if Combeferre was here, he’d explain to you how planes work and he’d tell you that it’s statistically improbable that you’re going to die in a plane crash and that it’s actually safer than going by car or something like that.” Enjolras brought up their hands to kiss Grantaire’s knuckles. “I don’t know anything about planes, though, so you’ll just have to believe me when I say that everything’s going to be fine.”

Grantaire sighed, but somehow managed to smile at Enjolras anyway. “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime,” Enjolras said and started reading the newspaper he’d bought at the airport, while Grantaire busied himself with watching the other people filing into the plane one by one. No one seemed to look as nervous as Grantaire felt, two little girls were giggling excitedly, businessmen were stowing away their carry-on luggage, settling into their seats with stony expressions, checking their phones, all of them so completely unaffected.

Grantaire shifted in his seat, tried to buckle his seatbelt, but failed miserably. Enjolras wordlessly reached over to do it for him. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire mumbled. “Sorry, I’m such a mess and you have to put up with me, you always do, I really don’t know why.” His hands were shaking, just slightly, but visibly. Now was really not the time to freak out, not with Enjolras here, not on a fucking plane.

This was a problem he had to deal with on his own, he hadn’t even meant to bring it up, it had just tumbled out of his mouth, because really, he still had no idea what Enjolras saw in him. He could be with someone so much better than Grantaire, with someone who wasn’t as needy and as fucked up as him, and yet, here he was, his blue eyes staring at him worriedly, thumb tracing circles across his skin, whispering soothing words that Grantaire hardly heard.

“Take a deep breath, okay?” Enjolras whispered to Grantaire as the flight attendants started going through the safety instructions, and Grantaire wasn’t sure whether he should concentrate on that or on Enjolras, who was pushing up the armrest between them, so he could put an arm around him and pull him a little closer – as best as he could with the seatbelt on.

Grantaire fell asleep with his head leaning against Enjolras’ shoulder about ten minutes after take-off and didn’t wake up until three hours into the flight. Someone, and his money was on Enjolras here, had draped a blanket over him, Enjolras was still holding his hand, but was asleep now as well, his head leaned back against his seat, the line of his throat all too inviting. Grantaire resisted the urge to kiss the pale skin there or to nuzzle at his neck, he only tugged part of the blanket over Enjolras legs. He sighed and looked around. Most of the people around him were asleep or watching movies on the small monitors in front of them.

Grantaire’s neck felt incredibly stiff and he somehow seemed to be even more tired than before, but he also felt strangely calm. But only until the plane made a little jump and the seatbelt sign flashed, and Grantaire was suddenly reminded that he was in fact who knows how many feet up in the air.

Enjolras didn’t even seem to notice that the plane had started rattling, or that the captain was making an announcement, saying the turbulences were nothing to worry about, but that he had to ask everyone to stay in their seats and all that. There was another bump that had Grantaire gripping at his blanket like it was the only thing that was keeping them up in the air.

There was nothing he wouldn’t give for a drink right now, or a cigarette, or anything else that would distract him from this hell. He could just wake up Enjolras, he wouldn’t be mad, of course not. He tugged at the sleeve of Enjolras’ hoodie. “Enjolras,” he muttered. “Hey, Enjolras.”

Enjolras jerked awake with a grunt, blinking at Grantaire, who gave him a lopsided smile, which quickly vanished when the plane jolted again. “Just a little turbulence,” Enjolras mumbled and kissed him on the forehead. “I have an idea,” he continued, nosing along Grantaire’s jaw, “I’ll try to distract you, okay?” His fingers curled around Grantaire’s thigh under the blanket.

“I...” Oh god, he hadn’t thought there’d actually be an effective way to distract him, but he’d obviously been wrong about that. “Yeah,” he said eventually, his voice hushed, “that’s a great idea.” His voice wavered slightly when Enjolras’ hand wandered upwards and along the hem of his jeans. He glanced at the elderly lady in the seat next to Enjolras, fast asleep and completely oblivious to what was going on.

“How are you feeling?” Enjolras almost purred, his other hand cupping Grantaire’s cheek to make him look at him. “Better?”

“Yeah, better,” Grantaire said, nodding enthusiastically. “Don’t stop.”

Enjolras palmed his hardening cock through his trousers, which incited a whimper from Grantaire.

“Everything okay here?” A flight attendant had appeared and was smiling her sweetest flight-attendant-smile.

Grantaire quickly dropped his hands into his lap, trying to conceal Enjolras’ hand, which had started making quick work of the button of his jeans and his zipper.

Enjolras flashed her a brilliant smile. “Oh yeah, everything’s fine, he’s just a nervous flyer.”

Grantaire nodded, trying to look nervous and not ridiculously turned on.

“Anything I can get you?” she asked, smiling sympathetically.

“No, I’m good, thank you,” Grantaire choked out, only barely keeping it together when Enjolras moved his hand again. “Enjolras,” he hissed once she’d moved on, “what the hell.” He knew that Enjolras didn’t do things halfway, but there were people all around them, for fuck’s sake, they couldn’t possibly be doing this.

Enjolras looked at him with the most innocent expression, then his hand dipped into Grantaire’s boxers. Grantaire fixed his eyes on the seatbelt sign, wondering if he could somehow will it to turn off, so he could make a run for the lavatories. When he did, he’d undoubtedly drag Enjolras with him.

* * *

“This is really nice,” Enjolras said, looking around their hotel room. “That guy must have really liked your work.” A chauffeur had come to pick them up at the airport and had taken them to their hotel, letting them know that Mr Moreau was looking forward to their lunch meeting the next day.

“Seems that way.” Grantaire was standing by the window, looking at the busy Manhattan street down below. He’d been awfully quiet for the whole ride to their hotel and Enjolras was slowly but surely running out of things to say to him to somehow make him feel better. He understood all too well why Grantaire was so nervous, Enjolras would be, too, if he happened to be in the same situation.

Enjolras walked over and wrapped his arms around him. “Anything I can do?”

“No,” Grantaire replied and let his head fall back against Enjolras’ chest. “Sorry, I know you’re trying to help. You did help already, you know?”

“Yeah, I figured that getting you off on a plane would probably take your mind off things,” Enjolras muttered into Grantaire’s hair, smiling stupidly at the thought. He was quite tempted to let that story slip around Courfeyrac at some point, only because he wanted to see his face.

Grantaire huffed out a laugh and turned around to kiss him thoroughly. “Have I told you how glad I am that you came with me?”

“Only about fifty times,” Enjolras said, still hugging Grantaire to his chest. “Anything in particular that you want to do today? We have all day to ourselves.”

“How about we take a nap?” Grantaire asked hopefully.

“That’s just going to make the jetlag even worse,” Enjolras replied. He was pretty sure that Grantaire hadn’t slept much last night, and the few hours of sleep on the plane surely hadn’t done much good either, but it was probably for the best if they stayed up for at least another couple of hours.

Grantaire sighed, his breath tickling Enjolras’ skin. “Can I interest you in other activities involving that bed?”

“I could be convinced, I suppose,” Enjolras mumbled, going willingly when Grantaire started pushing him back towards their bed.

Grantaire let himself fall on top of Enjolras, humming when Enjolras started stroking his hair. “You know what, we’re definitely going to take a nap first.”

“Okay,” Enjolras whispered, finally giving in, wondering if Grantaire would be terribly cross with him if he went to get his laptop, so he’d at least get _some_ work done. He’d meant to do so on the flight here, but Grantaire had needed the distraction and Enjolras had been more than happy to help with that.

Anyway, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. There was something that was bothering him, something he’d meant to ask Grantaire ever since he’d let it slip on the plane, but Enjolras wasn’t quite sure if now was the right time to ask. “Grantaire,” he started quietly. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered open again. “That thing you said earlier... that you don’t understand why I put up with you...”

Grantaire frowned. “Yeah?”

“Why did you say that?”

“Well, because I’m really not sure why you do,” he said dryly.

“Because I care about you,” Enjolras said immediately, “I mean, you do the same for me.”

“When exactly have I ever done the same for you?” Grantaire muttered. “You don’t freak out about the stupidest things, you don’t-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said firmly, “please don’t say that, I’m far from perfect and you know that.” He hated it when Grantaire insisted on putting him on a pedestal, because for the longest time Enjolras had been sure than he’d never find anyone willing to put up with _him_.

“You are a little bit perfect.” Grantaire reached up and traced Enjolras bottom lip with his thumb.

“Well, so are you,” Enjolras said and kissed the pad of his thumb. “I mean it.”

Grantaire’s face did the same thing it always did when Enjolras introduced him as his boyfriend or when Enjolras said something horribly sappy or when he showed up at Grantaire’s unannounced to bring him dinner or to watch a movie. Grantaire quickly hid his face in the crook of Enjolras neck.

Enjolras was pretty sure this wasn’t the last time they’d be having this conversation, because Grantaire somehow seemed to be set on the thought that Enjolras actually didn’t really like him and just stuck around for some dubious reason Enjolras didn’t really understand, and he’d very much like to convince Grantaire that that really wasn’t the case. Enjolras, however, wasn’t exactly good at articulating his feelings and he was a bit scared that he’d only manage to make things even worse.

He waited until he was sure that Grantaire was asleep, then he got up to get his laptop.

* * *

“Did you hear what he said.” Grantaire was tugging at Enjolras’ shirtsleeve like an overexcited toddler. He couldn’t help it, he felt like his brain was about to explode. They’d just had lunch with Mr Moreau and were now walking towards Times Square, and even though Enjolras hadn’t said much throughout, he’d held Grantaire’s hand under the table half of the time, squeezing it reassuringly every so often.

“I did,” Enjolras confirmed, grinning broadly.

“He said he was looking forward to working with me again,” Grantaire said anyway and gripped Enjolras’ arm. “Again, Enjolras, he wants to work with me _again_ , that’s what he said. And did you hear how much money he wants to give me for the designs I did, holy shit, Enjolras.”

Enjolras slung an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. “I’m very proud of you.”

Grantaire was beaming, there was nothing else he could do, there was nothing else he cared about, and there were no words for how happy he was. He let Enjolras drag him around the city for the rest of the day, his smile never wavering, not even when Enjolras suggested going on the ferris wheel in Toys R Us.

And just for a while, Grantaire allowed himself to believe that things were finally working out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is basically the last chapter, the next one will just be the epilogue of the supermassive epilogue. I mean, there's really no good time to end this, I could go on and on, but yeah, I don't want to bore you with copious amounts of fluff.


	16. Chapter 16

Enjolras sighed and checked his watch again. Sure, there was a clock just to his right, and another one a little further to the left, but he just didn’t have anything better to do. It was midnight, and God, he would have loved to be at home in his bed, but there were things more important than sleep right now.

He’d spent the last few hours staring daggers at the small _delayed_ next to Grantaire’s flight number on the big board above the arrivals gate, had read every article in a newspaper someone had left behind and had bought a year’s supply of coffee before all the shops around him had started closing up one by one.

There were only a few people still around, most of them waiting for the same flight. Enjolras recognised most of them by now. Grantaire had sent him a text hours ago and had told him to just go home, because he hadn’t been sure how much longer it was going to take, then another one, promising they’d meet up for breakfast. Enjolras had stayed, though. He’d promised Grantaire he’d pick him up at the airport, so he’d pick him up at the airport.

Actually, he’d wanted to go with Grantaire, but he was knee-deep in work and there was no way he could just take two weeks off. Those two weeks had at some point turned into nearly five and they’d been left with ten minute skype calls every couple of days. Enjolras was pretty sure that he’d go insane if Grantaire wasn’t close enough to him to touch very, very soon.

It wouldn’t be too much longer now, at least Grantaire’s flight was scheduled to land in seven minutes, so he’d only have to wait until he got his bags and then he could finally take him home.

He nearly sighed with relief when people started coming out through the gate, most of them looking properly annoyed. He slowly got up from the plastic chair in which he’d spent the better part of the evening, then he waited.

Grantaire, on the other side of the gate, was tapping his foot restlessly, eyes peeled for his luggage. There was only one way this day could get any worse and that was if they’d someone managed to lose his suitcase. The last couple of days hadn’t been all too great to begin with, even though he had all reason to be happy, he’d be home again soon, he’d see Enjolras, but all he’d been able to think about was how much he missed him.

Then his flight had been delayed, so he’d told Enjolras not to come, although the only thing he wanted was to see him, but he didn’t want to make him wait for hours, it just wouldn’t be fair. He’d see him tomorrow, he could wait until then, it wasn’t that long. Maybe he should just go to Enjolras’, it wouldn’t be the first time he came to wake him up in the middle of the night.

His thoughts were interrupted when he finally spotted his suitcase and had to go heave it off the carousel. When he made his way outside he thought he was hallucinating for a second. Because he’d told Enjolras to go home, he couldn’t possibly be here. But he was, he was standing right there, smiling at him like he hadn’t just spent the last couple of hours sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair.

Enjolras let out a huff when Grantaire tumbled into his arms, holding him tightly, almost uncomfortably so. “I missed you, too,” Enjolras said, laughing when Grantaire hugged him even tighter. “You’re going to break my ribs, you know.”

Grantaire grumbled, but loosened his grip on him a little. “I told you to go home,” he mumbled into Enjolras’ jacket.

“Yeah, but I don’t do everything you tell me to.” He kissed the top of Grantaire’s head. “I wanted to see you.”

Grantaire nuzzled at his neck. “You stayed.”

“Yes, I did,” Enjolras confirmed. “Why are you so surprised?”

“I’m not surprised, I’m just... happy.” He took a step back then, so he could look up at Enjolras. “Thank you.”

For a second Enjolras was pretty certain that he’d never be able to stop smiling. “Any time.” He grabbed the handle of Grantaire’s suitcase. “Let’s get you home.”

“Enjolras, where are you going?” Grantaire asked when Enjolras stalked off towards the parking decks, Grantaire in one hand, his suitcase in the other.

“Oh, right, I borrowed Feuilly’s car to pick you up.”

“Feuilly let you borrow his car?” Grantaire asked, somewhat incredulous.

Enjolras shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Grantaire could think of a couple of reasons. “Does he know you don’t actually have a license?”

“I don’t think I ever mentioned that particular fact,” Enjolras mumbled, never slowing his steps. “Anyway, that doesn’t mean I _can’t_ drive, Albert used to let me drive his car sometimes and-”

“Feuilly is going to murder you if he ever finds out.” In fact, Feuilly would probably kill both of them, just for good measure.

“How would he find out, I mean, you’re not going to tell him.” Enjolras turned to Grantaire, who was only looking at him with an amused expression. “Right?”

Grantaire almost felt bad, because technically this was his fault. “God, I’m such a bad influence, I made you break the law and I made you lie to Feuilly.”

“It was worth it,” Enjolras said, squeezing his hand.

“Maybe I should drive home, though,” Grantaire suggested as Enjolras paid an unspeakable amount of money for the parking ticket.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Aren’t you?” Enjolras looked pretty damn exhausted. “I slept on the plane, and honestly, it’s probably safer that way.”

“I’m not a bad driver,” Enjolras said, sticking his tongue out at Grantaire.

“So mature,” Grantaire muttered and stopped in his tracks to kiss him.

Enjolras didn’t protest when Grantaire took the keys from him, actually he was pretty relieved, because even though he kept insisting that he actually wasn’t a bad driver, there was a reason he didn’t have a license. He absolutely hated driving.

“How was New York?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire had tried to keep him updated during their skype calls, but they’d often ended up staring at each other silently until one of them had to leave, so Enjolras was pretty sure there was more to tell.

“It was good, everything went really well, I went to a lot of meetings and I did a lot of business things, their design department is actually really great, and well, you saw the flat Mr Moreau got me, it was insane, and he offered me a job and I had to go to really expensive restaurants and I missed you a lot, did I mention that?” Grantaire rattled off, keeping his eyes fixed on the road all the while.

Enjolras was pretty sure it wasn’t just because he was concentrating on traffic, not only because there basically was none. “He offered you a job?”

“I didn’t take it,” Grantaire said immediately. “He would have wanted me to go to New York and that’s not where you are, so it was a pretty easy decision.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras started, because Grantaire couldn’t possibly think he’d just let this go, this was obviously something they should have talked about.

“No, don’t argue with me on this.” Grantaire briefly glanced at him. He didn’t look too happy. “I’ll continue working with them, but I’m not going to move away, so it’s all fine. I didn’t even want to tell you, but we promised to tell each other things, so I’m telling you the thing.”

Enjolras sighed. “Thanks for telling me.” It was strange, because he wasn’t quite sure what he would have done in Grantaire’s place. He would have done the same, he would have declined. Of course he would have.

They found a note from Jehan at the door, saying he’d spend the night at Courfeyrac’s _for obvious reasons_ , at which Grantaire only rolled his eyes.

“I brought you something,” Grantaire said as Enjolras sat down on his bed, watching as Grantaire started rummaging through his suitcase. He eventually produced a shoebox, which he handed to Enjolras.

“A new pair of shoes?” Enjolras asked, although the box wasn’t actually heavy enough to contain shoes. He wouldn’t have been surprised, though, because Grantaire kept making snarky comments about Enjolras’ red converse that had started falling apart a very long time ago. Grantaire had been threatening to get him new ones for months.

Grantaire grinned. “Not exactly. Open it.”

Enjolras did. It was full of pictures, little doodles and proper drawings, on paper and on cocktail napkins, more napkins from a diverse selection of fast food restaurants, tourist brochures and even on a ticket from some Broadway show.

“I drew them for you whenever I had time, and since you have an affinity for hiding stuff I drew in shoeboxes, I thought...”

Enjolras moved to shut him up with a kiss. “Thank you.”

“The actual shoes are somewhere in my suitcase.”

Enjolras snorted. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I mean, it’s not like shoeboxes just fall from the skies or anything.”

When they finally made it to bed, Enjolras fell asleep almost instantly. Grantaire was holding on to him tightly, just like at the airport, but Enjolras found that he didn’t mind at all.

Grantaire was so used to falling asleep next to Enjolras, he could actually pinpoint the second he started drifting off to sleep. He would have loved to talk to him a little more, he’d missed talking to Enjolras, but he didn’t want to keep him awake either. He sighed. “Enjolras... are you asleep yet?” Grantaire kissed his neck. “Wake up.”

Enjolras grumbled something, but turned over eventually. “What?”

“There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, looks like that's it. Thank you all so much for reading, it certainly was a pleasure writing for you.


End file.
